0-    ^ 


«. 


C 


HILLSBORO'  FARMS. 


BY 


SOPHIA   DICKINSON  COBB. 


BOSTON: 

LEE     AND      SHEPARD, 
1869. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 

EMMA    B.   COBB, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


Stereotyped  at  the  Boston  Stereotype  Foundry, 
19  Spring  Lane. 


PREFACE. 


THIS  little  book  does  not  claim  to  have  any  spe- 
cial moral  or  mission.  Its  author  has  not  aimed, 
through  it,  to  teach  anything,  or  to  prove  anything. 
She  has  but  looked  on  nature  and  life  in  some  of 
their  quiet  and  little-noticed  phases,  and,  loving 
what  she  saw  there,  has  tried,  upon  her  modest  can- 
vas, to  paint  it.  If  her  readers  shall  find  the  pic- 
ture true,  her  object  will  be  gained. 

(5) 


171.11-50 


HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IT  is  just  possible  that  the  good  township  of  Hillsboro' 
may  not  be  found  laid  down,  with  that  designation,  upon 
any  of  the  maps ;  but  this  trifling  circumstance  will  not 
prevent  some  who  may  read  these  pages  from  recognizing 
dear  and  familiar  scenes ;  and  they  will  need  no  map  or 
gazetteer  to  tell  them  in  which  of  the  six  New  England 
States  it  is,  or  what  is  the  name  of  its  county.  The  town 
lies  on  a  succession  of  long  swells,  the  last  diminishing 
undulations  of  a  distant  mountain  range.  To  the  west, 
through  Edgehill,  rise  wild  and  picturesque  hills,  crowned 
with  storm-beaten  forests,  and  seamed  with  many  a  rocky 
rent  and  chasm  ;  while  beyond,  sharp  and  blue  in  the  morn- 
ing light,  or  purple  with  the  haze  of  sunset,  are  actual 
mountains.  To  the  east  the  face  of  the  country  is  tame  by 
contrast,  being  an  alternation  of  forest  and  farm  for  half  a 
county's  width.  The  eye  ranges  over  miles  of  rolling 
woodland,  chequered  at  intervals  by  silver  river  courses, 
and  dotted  here  and  there  with  what  seem,  at  this  dis- 
tance, but  clusters  of  white  specks,  but  which  in  reality 
are  busy  villages,  surrounded  by  acres  on  acres  of  the 
richest  farming  land  of  New  England.  A  feeling  of  lonely 

(7) 


8  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

remoteness  impresses  the  traveller  who  for  the  first  time 
journeys  over  the  unfrequented  roads  of  Hillsboro' — a  feel- 
ing which  yet  can  hardly  become  dreariness,  even  where 
the  farm-houses  are  most  thinly  scattered.  The  evidences 
of  thrift  and  homely  comfort,  of  abundance,  and,  in  many 
instances,  of  positive  wealth,  are  everywhere  too  apparent 
to  admit  an  aspect  of  dreariness ;  and,  moreover,  the  traces 
of  a  still,  but  vigorous  and  almost  vivid  life,  are  everywhere 
present  in  the  picture.  The  farms  are,  for  the  most  part, 
large,  and  the  homes  of  the  owners  widely  separated,  only 
rarely  gathering  in  clusters  of  two  or  three,  "  Hillsboro' 
Centre,"  the  only  village  in  the  township,  being  but  a  col- 
lection of  half  a  dozen  dwelling-houses  grouped  about  a 
church,  a  post-office,  a  variety  store,  and  a  blacksmith's  shop. 
A  very  pleasing  effect  in  the  landscape  is  produced  by  the 
prevailing  taste  among  the  farmers  for  red  and  yellow  in 
the  color  of  their  houses.  White  may  do  very  well  amid 
the  greenness  of  the  short,  glowing  summer ;  but  through 
the  long,  windy  springs  and  sombre,  decaying  autumns, 
these  specks  of  brilliant  coloring  on  the  wide,  gray  hill- 
sides, give  a  wonderful  warmth  and  character  to  the  picture. 

The  farmers,  honest  souls,  are  probably  but  little  actuated 
by  ideas  concerning  tone  or  harmony  of  color.  Red  and 
and  yellow  are  cheap  paints ;  but  we  will  not  quarrel  with 
the  cause  so  long  as  the  effect  is  so  satisfactory. 

Hillsboro'  really  shows  to  best  advantage  in  the  summer; 
but  nowhere  does  the  autumn  come  more  softly,  or  with 
a  more  pensive  loveliness,  stealing  on  the  traces  of  sum- 
mer with  a  mournful  glory  almost  rivalling  the  beauty  it 
displaces.  Something  of  this  charm  lingered  even  to  a 
day  in  the  late  November  of  the  year  185-.  The  day  was 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  9 

warm  for  the  season,  the  air  soft  and  dry,  with  no  bright 
sunshine,  and,  in  place  of  blue  sky,  that  silvery  curtain  of 
thin  gray  cloud,  which  is  no  forerunner  of  storm,  and 
which  gives  to  all  objects  in  the  landscape  a  magical 
clearness  and  distinctness  of  outline  that  clear  sun- 
shine cannot  prpduce.  The  woods  were  bare  and  leaf- 
less ;  silent,  too,  but  for  the  occasional  rustle  of  a  late- 
falling  leaf,  or  the  murmur  of  the  quiet  autumn  wind.  The 
fields  had  lost  their  last  shade  of  green,  even  in  the  warm, 
sheltered  hollows ;  and,  though  the  cattle  still  dotted  the 
hill-side,  it  was  only  the  sheep  that  cropped  the  short  brown 
stubble. 

Half  way  up  the  eastern  slope  of  one  of  the  longest 
swells  described,  and  about  three  miles  from  the  "  Centre," 
lies  the  farm  of  David  Page.  The  house  stands  a  little 
back  from  the  highway,  and  the  unenclosed  sward  in  front 
comes  up  in  a  sharp,  well-defined  line  to  the  road-side,  its 
surface  unbroken  save  by  a  single  huge  butternut  tree, 
whose  spreading  branches  almost  sweep  the  ground.  The 
dwelling  itself  is  a  large,  rambling,  roomy  structure,  built 
of  wood,  and  neatly  painted  red,  suggestive,  at  the  first 
glance,  of  wide,  low-browed  rooms  and  deep  fireplaces,  and 
having  always,  even  on  a  gray  day  like  this,  a  cheery,  sun- 
shiny look,  that  seems  to  emanate  from  the  life  within. 
Under  the  front  windows  you  may  see,  in  the  summer 
time,  a  brilliant  display  of  sweet-williams,  London  pride, 
and  prince's  feather;  and  on  either  side  the  broad,  flat, 
unhewn  stone  which  forms  the  doorstep,  glow,  in  the  long 
June  days,  the  blood-red  peonies.  To  the  right  of  the 
door,  a  gate  between  two  great  lilac  trees  leads  to  the 
orchard,  lying  on  the  upward  slope  above  the  house,  It 


10  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

is  a  pleasant  orchard,  stone-walled,  with  the  frost-faded 
grass  under  foot  smooth  as  a  carpet,  and  the  long,  straight 
rows  of  ancient  apple  trees,  from  whose  brown  branches  the 
last  yellow  leaves  have  fallen.  At  the  eastern  end  of  the 
house  is  another  door,  which  is  the  one  in  commonest  use 
by  the  family,  the  front  door  being  seldom  opened  except 
in  summer.  A  curving,  well-trodden  foot-path  leads  up  to 
it  from  the  road,  and  before  it  the  grassy  slope  runs  down 
to  the  garden  fence.  Beside  this  fence,  and  between  the 
long  rows  of  currant  bushes  and  the  border  of  sunflowers, 
stands  a  line  of  bee-hives,  around  which,  through  all  the 
long  summer  days,  sounds  a  drowsy  murmur  from  the 
"pollen-dusted  bees,"  as  they  come  and  go  from  great 
beds  of  balm  and  sage,  or  hover  over  the  gaudy  borders 
where  blossom  tiger  lilies,  tall  hollyhocks,  and  monkshood, 
with,  now  and  then,  the  more  delicate  faces  of  sweet-peas 
and  cai-nations.  Now  all  this  summer  glory  is  vanished  ; 
still  is  the  busy  hive,  faded  and  despoiled  the  garden 
walks,  where  a  hen,  with  a  late  brood  of  overgrown,  long- 
legged  chickens,  is  allowed  to  scratch  at  pleasure.  Near 
the  garden  gate  stands  the  well,  its  wooden  curb  and  plat- 
form weather-stained  and  rnossy  with  the  rains  of  many 
years.  An  empty  bucket  dangles  from  the  long  pole,  and 
the  heavy  sweep,  when  put  in  motion,  has  a  creaking 
groan  that  may  be  heard  far  down  the  valley.  Around 
the  worn  platform  and  up  through  its  seams  the  grass 
grows  always  thick  and  tall.  Wonderfully  clear,  cool,  and 
sweet  is  the  water  far  down  below,  in  whose  smooth  mirror 
are  reflected  all  aspects  of  the  heavens  —  the  bright  sum- 
mer cloud,  the  driving  storm-rack,  the  blue  sky,  and  by 
night  the  slow  procession  of  the  stars. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  11 

In  the  rear  of  the  house  are  the  great  barns,  which,  with 
their  clustering  sheds  and  out-buildings,  make  almost  a 
village  of  themselves.  From  the  open  barn  doors  comes 
forth  now  a  heavy,  thundering  sound,  not  precisely  the 
"dull  thunder  of  alternate  flails,"  but  a  sound  of  kindred 
significance.  It  is  the  steady,  prolonged  jar  of  a  huge 
threshing  machine,  where  two  tired  horses  plod  wearily 
on  in  an  endless  treadmill  journey.  The  yellow  waves 
of  straw  flow  out  through  the  wide  doors,  and  overflow 
even  the  high  stone  wall  of  the  barn-yard.  Standing  knee- 
deep  in  the  golden  tide,  and  wiping  his  hot  forehead  with 
a  bandanna  handkerchief  as  he  leans  upon  his  pitchfork,  is 
the  farmer  to  whom  all  this  homely  wealth  belongs  —  a 
strong,  active-looking  man,  with  a  keen,  shrewd  face,  a 
merry  gray  eye,  and  a  large  mouth  which  would  seem  to 
like  smiling,  it  does  that  so  much  more  readily  than  any- 
thing else.  A  prosperous  and  thrifty  farmer  is  David 
Page,  not  positively  rich,  but  what  our  people  call  "fore- 
handed; "that  is,  having  a  large,  productive  farm,  not  a 
debt  in  the  world,  and  here  and  there  small  sums  of  money 
well  invested.  This  autumn  clay  finds  him  engaged  in 
finishing  up  the  more  important  labors  of  the  year.  When 
the  threshing  is  done  there  will  ensue  a  period  of  com- 
parative leisure. 

As  Mr.  Page  replaced  the  hat  upon  his  head,  and,  with 
a  word  or  two  to  his  workmen,  turned  again  to  his  labor, 
a  youth  came  slowly  towards  him  out  of  the  barn.  He 
was  a  well-built  young  fellow  of  about  seventeen,  with  a 
slow,  deliberate  manner  of  doing  everything,  which,  with- 
out savoring  really  of  indolence,  was  yet  in  marked  con- 
trast to  the  farmer's  wiry  energy.  He  had  an  intelligent 


12  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

face,  round  and  ruddy,  and  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  running 
over  with  boyish  drollery.  This  Avas  Mr.  Page's  youngest 
son ;  in  fact,  the  only  son  now  remaining  to  him,  all  the 
others  having  sought  and  found  homes  of  their  own  in  the 
great  West. 

'  "  Come,  Heman,  spry  is  the  word,  if  we  are  going  to  get 
this  job  off  our  hands  to-night." 

"  Gorry,  father !  perhaps  you  see  how  it's  going  to  be 
done,  but  I  don't." 

"  O,  you  will  see  shortly.  Here,  give  Ezra  a  hand  now 
with  them  bags." 

The  youth  heaved  with  a  will. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Page,"  said  one  of  the  men,  "we  are  pretty 
well  on  time  to-day.  There  goes  the  last  bushel,  and  Amos 
is  taking  off  the  horses  this  minute." 

"  That's  better  than  I  expected,  Walker.  A  good  day's 
work,  and  the  heaviest  barley  I  ever  raised.  Plague  on 
those  girls !  "  he  added  to  himself,  in  a  lower  tone ;  "  I  wish 
they  had  staid  away.  No  getting  anything  out  of  that 
boy  when  they  are  round." 

A  gay  voice  from  the  hill-side  called  Heman  by  name, 
and  two  young  girls  were  seen  coming  slowly  down  over 
the  crisp  grass  from  the  strip  of  beech  wood  that  crested 
the  hill.  Heman  answered  the  call,  and,  as  if  to  verify  his 
father's  words,  went  and  leaned  on  the  farm-yard  gate, 
watching  the  approach  of  the  two  with  bright  and  rather 
admiring  eyes.  The  new-comers  justified  his  admiration. 
The  elder  was  about  seventeen,  and  might  have  stood  for 
the  embodiment  of  fresh  youthful  life.  She  carried  a  gray 
straw  hat  in  her  hand,  and  a  shawl  was  falling  carelessly 
from  her  shoulders,  as  with  glowing  cheek  she  walked 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  13 

along,  regardless  of  the  autumn  air.  Her  round,  pliant 
figure,  graceful  as  a  birch  sapling,  was  set  off  to  the  best 
advantage  by  a  softly  fitting  gown  of  mulberry-colored 
merino.  She  had  a  pure,  innocent  face,  full  of  the  wilful 
spirit  and  gay  daring  of  a  child,  a  great  abundance  of  fine 
chestnut  hair,  which  had  an  inclination  to  droop  in  heavy 
masses  round  a  small  head,  a  low,  well-formed  forehead, 
with  clearly-defined  but  delicate  eyebrows,  and  beautiful, 
dewy,  violet  eyes,  shaded  by  long,  curving  lashes.  She 
had  also,  what  is  a  rare  beauty  in  the  human  face,  a  hand- 
some nose ;  it  was  small  and  straight,  making  a  not  too 
abrupt  angle  with  the  brow,  and  giving  to  the  face  a  de- 
gree of  character  and  energy  it  might  not  have  taken  from 
the  sweet  spirited  mouth  alone.  Add  to  this  a  manner 
frank  and  gay,  at  times  a  little  shy,  and  always  a  good  deal 
wilful,  and  you  have  Lucy  Fraser  as  all  Hillsboro'  knew 
her.  Her  companion,  Lydia  Page,  was  some  two  years 
younger — a  thin,  sallow  girl,  with  a  bright,  saucy  face,  and 
a  pair  of  sparkling  black  eyes.  She  was  at  that  transition 
period  of  a  girl's  life  when  it  is  impossible  to  decide  if  two 
or  three  years  will  transform  her  into  a  beauty,  or  leave 
her  hopelessly  plain.  David  Page  had  married  the  elder 
sister  of  Luty's  father,  and  these  two  girls  were,  therefore 
cousins.  They  were  near  neighbors,  sworn  allies,  and  in- 
separable companions.  Lucy  Fraser  being  without  brother 
or  sister,  Heman  and  Lydia  had  sustained,  as  nearly  as 
possible  such  relations  to  her;  and  the  affection  which 
united  them  was  close  and  strong. 

Mr.  Page  was  not  mistaken  in  his  expectation  that  the 
arrival  of  these  new-comers  would  interfere  with  his  son's 
devotion  to  the  task  in  hand.  The  cirls  came  down  to 


14  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

where  Heman  stood  awaiting  them.  They  were  full  of 
eager  announcements  and  questions,  and  all  three  were 
shortly  quite  absorbed  in  the  discussion  of  some  one  of 
those  innumerable  topics  of  weighty  interest  with  which 
young  people  of  their  age  are  usually  occupied.  The 
farmer's  ears  could  catch  the  continuous  murmur  of  their 
pleasant,  youthful  voices,  and  now  and  then  a  ringing  peal 
of  girlish  laughter,  as  some  dry  sally  of  Heman's  pro- 
voked the  merriment  of  his  companions.  Presently  he  left 
his  work  and  came  towards  them. 

"Here,"  cried  Lucy,  "comes  uncle  David;  and  I  know, 
by  his  looks,  he  is  going  to  send  us  away.  O,  uncle,  what 
will  you  give  us  to  come  in  there  and  help  you  fill  the 
bags?" 

"  I  will  give  you  two  chatterboxes  twice  as  much  to  go 
into  the  house,  and  leave  this  lazy  boy  to  do  his  work." 

"  Heman  is  lazy,  uncle  David  ;  I  have  often  told  him  so ; 
and  it  is  a  very  bad  fault." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Lucy ;  it's  something  that  runs  in  the 
Page  blood,  you  see." 

"  If  you  were  not  quite  so  tall,  sir,"  answered  his  father, 
laughing,  "  I  would  stir  the  Page  blood  in  you  with  a  good 
birch  stick." 

"  Don't  stand  on  ceremony,  father,  if  you  feel  disposed 
to  lay  on,"  retorted  the  imperturbable  Heman ;  and,  satis- 
fied with  having  got,  as  he  usually  did,  the  last  word,  he 
moved  off  to  his  work. 

"  Now,  girls,"  said  Mr.  Page,  "I  want  you  to  go  down  to 
the  house  and  ask  Hannah  to  have  supper  ready  for  the 
men  by  half  past  four.  They  are  about  through  with 
the  thrashing,  and  will  want  to  start  for  home  in  good 
season." 


HILLSBOEO'    FARMS.  15 

"And  O,  uncle,  is  it  really  all  settled  about  your  going?" 

"We'll  talk  about  that  by  and  by.  Run  along,  now, 
and  don't  forget  your  errand  before  you  get  to  the  house." 

The  girls  made  a  wide  circuit  around  the  barns  and 
sheds,  and  came  up  through  the  garden  to  the  house. 
They  loitered  all  the  way,  feeling,  unconsciously,  the  influ- 
ence of  all  the  quiet  beauty  around  them,  and  lingered, 
even  on  the  threshold,  to  look  back  for  a  moment  ere  they 
sought  the  duller  atmosphere  within. 

The  door  by  which  they  entered  opened  into  a  square 
entry,  having  the  sitting-room  on  the  left  hand  and  the 
kitchen  upon  the  right.  The  former  was  a  large,  square 
room,  of  cheerful  aspect,  and  conveying,  the  instant  you 
entered  it,  an  impression  of  exquisite  neatness.  A  bright 
fire,  burning  in  an  ample  fireplace,  diffused  a  pleasant 
warmth,  tempered,  this  fine  afternoon,  by  an  open  window ; 
a  serviceable  rag  carpet,  woven  in  brilliant  stripes,  covered 
the  floor;  the  tall  brass  andirons  were  polished  like  mir- 
rors, and  the  knit  cotton  "tidies"  on  the  chair-backs  were 
of  a  snowy  whiteness.  The  furniture  was  plain  and  old- 
fashioned —  a  birch  table,  a  tall  mahogany  secretary,  cur- 
tained behind  its  glass  door  with  faded  green  silk,  one  or 
two  chintz-Covered  arm-chairs,  and  a  settee  with  pillows 
in  ornamental  (?)  patchwork.  Yet  there  was  a  wonderful 
air  of  comfort  pervading  the  apartment,  and  the  genial, 
warm-hearted  atmosphere  which  always  prevailed  there 
made  it  one  of  the  most  attractive  in  the  neighborhood. 

At  one  of  the  front  windows,  busy  with  putting  the  last 
stitches  to  a  fine  white  shirt  for  her  father,  sat  Hannah 
Page,  the  farmer's  eldest  child.  Long  the  virtual,  Hannah 
had,  since  the  death  of  her  mother,  five  years  before,  been 


16  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

the  actual  head  of  her  father's  family,  his  thoughtful 
companion,  and  almost  the  parent  of  her  young  brother 
and  sister.  Hannah  was  no  longer  young ;  indeed,  she 
was  a  year  or  two  on  the  wrong  side  of  thirty  —  if  that 
respectable  age,  strictly  speaking,  admits  of  a  right  or 
wrong  side.  Her  erect,  active  figure  was  clad  with  careful 
neatness,  her  brown  hair  brushed  to  a  satin  smoothness. 
The  most  partial  and  affectionate  of  her  friends  were  not 
accustomed  to  call  Hannah  Page  pretty;  but  her  face  was 
full  of  character  and  sense.  Her  clear,  well-opened  eyes 
were  keen  and  honest,  and  had  a  steadfast,  cordial  glance, 
which  at  once,  invited  confidence  and  insured  support. 
Round  the  corners  of  her  rather  large  mouth  lurked  a 
shrewd  yet  genial  smile,  and  her  voice  was  exceedingly 
pleasant,  notwithstanding  it  was  a  little  loud  and  slightly 
imperative. 

As  I  have  already  said,  the  wife  of  Mr.  Page  had  been 
the  elder  sister  of  Lucy's  father.  The  father  of  Mrs.  Page, 
and  the  grandfather  of  all  these  young  people,  "  Old  Cap- 
tain Fraser,"  as  he  was  commonly  called,  had  been  a 
sailor  from  his  boyhood.  When  scarcely  more  than  one 
and  twenty  he  had  married  a  pretty  Hillsboro'  girl,  and, 
yielding  to  the  entreaties  of  his  bride  and  her  family, 
bought  a  handsome  farm  in  her  native  town,  and  settled 
down,  as  he  then  thought,  for  life.  But  the  quiet  routine 
of  a  Hillsboro'  farmer's  existence  did  not  suit  the  restless 
energy  of  his  spirit.  He  chafed  and  pined  for  the  freedom 
of  the  sea,  and  for  the  old  life  of  enterprise  and  adventure 
which  he  had  abandoned.  At  the  end  of  three  years  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  could  no  longer  endure  so 
uncongenial  a  lot ;  and,  settling  a  brother  of  his  wife's  in 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  17 

his  home  to  look  after  his  family  and  his  interests,  he  de- 
parted for  "just  one  more  voyage."  But  when  the  one 
voyage  was  completed,  there  seemed  equally  good  reason 
for  another,  and  then  for  a  dozen  more ;  and  so  the  years 
came  and  went,  bringing  him,  apparently,  no  nearer  to  the 
end  of  his  wanderings.  Many  were  the  changes,  however, 
which  their  passage  brought  to  his  quiet  home  among  the 
hills.  His  daughter  grew  to  womanhood,  married,  and  bad 
children  of  her  own,  to  be  danced  upon  his  knee  in  his 
frequent  visits  to  Hillsboro.  His  son  became  a  tall  young 
man,  and  took  upon  himself  the  control  and  care  of  his 
mother's  household ;  and  then  he,  too,  married  and  brought 
a  young  wife  to  the  old  home.  At  length  the  captain's 
family  grew  urgent  that  he  should  leave  what  they  had 
ever  regarded  as  a  most  unsettled  mode  of  life,  and  return 
permanently  to  them.  He  put  them  off  from  year  to 
year,  with  now  an  excuse  and  now  a  promise,  well  know- 
ing he  must  yield  at  last,  but  dreading  bitterly  the  time 
when  age  and  infirmity  should  compel  him  to  renounce 
the  career  of  activity  and  change  he  loved  so  well.  About 
eight  years  before  the  time  with  which  we  have  to  do,  an 
accident  had  hastened  what  otherwise  might  have  been 
some  time  longer  deferred.  A  fractured  leg  rendered  the 
old  man  quite  helpless  for  some  months ;  and  though  at 
the  end  of  a  year  he  was  entirely  recovered,  and  hale  and 
hearty  as  ever,  yet  his  feelings  had  undergone  a  change. 
He  had  found  life  in  his  son's  family  much  more  pleasant 
than  he  had  dreamed ;  and  so,  at  last,  he  settled  up  his 
affairs,  saw  his  beloved  ship  sail  under  a  new  captain,  and 
returned  to  Hillsboro' to  —  as  he  expressed  it  —  begin  in 
earnest  to  be  an  old  man.  That  this  had  not  proved  to  him 


18  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

a  more  difficult  undertaking  was  owing,  in  a  great  measure, 
to  his  little  granddaughter,  Lucy,  who,  at  the  time  of  his 
return  to  Hillsboro',  was  about  nine  years  old.  Sensible 
elderly  people  shook  their  heads,  and  declared  that  Lucy 
Fraser  was  sure  to  be  spoiled ;  and,  indeed,  they  had  the 
probabilities  on  their  side.  An  only  child,  she  had  been 
petted  and  indulged  from  infancy ;  but  when  her  grand- 
father became  a  member  of  the  family,  the  others  seemed 
to  half  resign  their  claims  upon  her;  and  thenceforward, 
by  a  sort  of  tacit  understanding,  she  belonged  to  the  olcl 
man.  She  was  his  constant  companion,  his  pet,  his  play- 
thing, and  his  darling.  He  forestalled,  if  possible,  all  her 
wishes,  and  indulged  her  most  absurd  whims.  One  thing 
only  he  denied  her  —  permission  ever  to  leave  him.  In 
return  for  her  grandfather's  half  indulgent,  half  tyrannical 
affection,  Lucy  gave  a  love  which  was  much  of  the  same 
kind.  She  knew  no  sacrifice  too  great  to  be  cheerfully 
made  for  his  sake ;  yet  at  the  same  time  she  coaxed  and  tor- 
mented him  into  a  compliance  with  her  plans,  till  he  declared 
that  he  was  a  slave  to  her  caprices,  and  that  she  ruled  him 
with  a  rod  of  iron.  Lucy  was  now  seventeen,  and  the  most 
admired  girl  in  Hillsboro'.  Handsome  and  high-spirited, 
the  only  child  of  one  of  the  richest  farmers  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  the  undoubted  heiress  of  her  grandfather, 
whose  fortune,  for  that  modest  community,  was  large,  cor- 
dially liked,  though  a  little  envied  by  all  the  girls  who 
were  her  companions,  and  admired  by  all  the  beaus  within 
a  circuit  of  a  dozen  miles  —  was  it  any  matter  of  wonder 
if  Lucy  Fraser  was  a  little  spoiled,  self-willed,  and  vain  ? 

Hannah  looked  up  from  her  work,  with  a  pleasant  greet- 
ing, as  the  two  young  girls  came  in.  "Where  have  you 
two  been  all  this  long  afternoon  ?  "  she  said. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  19 

"  O,  everywhere,"  answered  Lucy ;  "  down  by  the  brook, 
and  through  the  hollow,  and  up  among  the  beeches.  It  is 
splendid  in  the  woods  to-day;  and  we  have  been  to  all 
the  nice  places  it  will  soon  be  too  cold  to  go  to.  I  believe 
I  am  almost  tired.  What  was  it,  Lydia,  that  uncle  David 
asked  us  to  tell  Hannah  ?  " 

"  To  have  supper  ready  for  the  thrashers  by  half  past 
four.  Shall  I  go  and  tell  Debby  ?  " 

"Yes;  but  tell  her  she  need  not  get  our  supper  now. 
We  will  have  it  at  the  usual  time." 

Lydia  went  out,  and  Lucy,  pushing  Hannah's  work 
away,  sat  down  on  the  deep  window-seat  beside  her  cousin, 
and  began  idly  unwinding  the  spools  of  cotton,  and  turn- 
ing into  confusion  the  other  contents  of  Miss  Page's  well- 
ordered  work-basket.  When  she  had  marked  the  initials 
of  her  name  with  rows  of  pins  on  Hannah's  pincushion, 
and  watched  a  while  the  neat  and  rapid  fingers  of  the  latter 
at  their  work,  she  broke  out,  suddenly, — 

"Hannah,  are  you  always  just  so  busy?  Do  you  never 
stop  working?" 

"  Well,  dear,  there  is  usually  something  to  keep  me  busy ; 
and  then  I  more  than  half  believe  in  Satan's  having  always 
some  mischief  ready  for  idle  hands." 

"  Dear  me  !  what  a  world  of  mischief  he  must  have  for 
mine ! "  cried  Lucy,  looking  down  at  the  pretty  hands  which 
now  lay  clasped  in  her  lap. 

Hannah  smiled.  "I  wasn't  thinking  of  yours,"  she  said. 
"Perhaps  they  do  not  do  as  much  mischief  as  some,  though 
they  ai-e  responsible  for  enough,  in  all  conscience.  The 
truth  is,  Lucy,  you  have  always  been  a  kind  of  a  stumbling- 
block  to  me." 


20  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

"  I,  Hannah  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean,"  said  Hannah,  gravely,  "  that  you  are  a  stand- 
ing contradiction  to  all  my  rules  and  principles.  It  is 
against  reason  and  common  sense,  I  dare  say ;  but  some- 
times I  think  there  may  be  uses  in  the  world  for  which 
such  idle  ne'er-do-weels  as  you  are  better  fitted  than  or- 
dinary, useful  people." 

"  Of  course  there  are,  Hannah.  What  do  you  suppose 
would  become  of  grandpa  if  I  were  a  steady^  industrious 
girl,  always  busy  with  the  housework,  like  Desire  Sharpe  ? 
He  Avould  have  nobody  to  stir  him  up." 

"  I  think  he  might  live  through  it  if  you  were  a  trifle 
more  industrious.  Hand  me  that  gusset  on  the  chair  be- 
side you  ;  yes,  that  is  it.  Now  just  pick  me  out  some  but- 
tons, and  I  will  have  this  shirt  finished  in  a  few  minutes. 
Then  the  last  of  father's  things  will  be  done." 

"  And  then  will  he  be  all  ready  to  start  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  will  be  ready ;  but  whether  he  will  start  or 
not  is  another  thing." 

"  But  I  thought  it  was  all  settled  that  he  was  to  go  as 
soon  as  the  thrashing  was  done." 

"Well,  that  was  the  plan.  William  and  Ellen  keep 
writing  to  know  when  they  can  expect  him ;  and  last 
night  we  had  a  letter  from  Robert,  promising  to  meet  him 
in  Cincinnati  the  twenty-ninth." 

«  Why  doesn't  he  go,  then  ?  " 

"  O,  as  the  time  comes  near,  he  hates  to  leave  us  alone 
for  all  winter.  He  thinks  we  shall  be  lonesome  without 
him,  and  that  Heman  is  only  a  boy,  not  fit  to  have  charge 
of  everything." 

"  Pshaw  !     Heman  is  as  fit  to  have  charge  of  a  farm  as 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  21 

half  the  men  ;  and,  if  he  isn't  enough  of  himself,  I'll  come 
down  and  help  him." 

"  You  had  better  make  that  offer  to  your  uncle,  Lucy ; 
he  will  feel  quite  safe  then." 

"  So  I  shall,  Hannah ;  and  you  will  see  that  he  will  think 
something  of  it,  if  you  don't.  Everybody  does  not  con- 
sider me  such  a  baby." 

The  journey  which  the  cousins  were  discussing  was  one 
which  Mr.  Page  had  long  had  in  contemplation,  for  the 
pin-pose  of  paying  a  visit  to  his  two  elder  sons,  who  were 
settled  in  Ohio.  It  had  been  arranged  that  he  should 
leave  home  as  soon  as  possible  after  the  fall  work  was 
done,  and  spend  the  whole  winter  with  these  children  in 
the  West.  But  as  the  time  drew  near,  he  began,  as  Han- 
nah said,  to  hesitate  about  leaving  his  family  so  long  alone. 
He  had  great  confidence  in  Heroan,  yet  he  thought  the  lad 
almost  too  young  to  be  the  only  manly  protector  of  his 
sisters ;  though  all  the  time  the  farmer  knew  quite  well 
that  there  was  very  little  likelihood  of  any  protection 
being  needed  by  them.  Still  he  felt  uneasy,  and  would 
decide  on  nothing,  though  the  preparations  for  his  journey 
went  on. 

The  day's  work  was  done,  the  threshers  were  gone,  and 
silence  and  darkness  had  settled  over  the  great  closed 
barns.  Inside  the  farm-house  the  fire  blazed  cheerily,  the 
candles  were  lighted,  and  the  family  gathered  around  the 
well-spread  supper-table.  This  was  always  a  pleasant 
meal  at  the  Pages',  and  Lucy's  presence  usually  made  it  a 
merry  one.  There  was  a  cheerful  confusion  of  young 
voices  and  laughter,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  father  sat 
smiling  and  content.  Presently  Lucy  recalled  the  subject 


22  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

of  her  conversation  with  Hannah,  and  appealed  to  her 
uncle  to  know  if  he  were  really  decided  on  not  going  to 
Ohio. 

"  Not  exactly  decided,  Lucy.  I  hardly  know  what  to  do 
about  leaving  Hannah  and  the  children  alone,  though." 

"  But,  uncle,  Hemaii  is  almost  eighteen,  —  at  least,  he 
will  be  eighteen  next  summer,  —  and  I  am  sure  he  can 
take  care  of  himself  and  the  girls  too.  Besides,  there  are 
father  and  grandfather  close  by." 

"  True  they  are  not  far  off;  but  of  what  use  would  they 
be  in  the  long,  stormy  nights?  It  would  be  pretty  dismal, 
Lucy  —  pretty  dismal." 

"  But  I  mean  to  come  down  here  and  stay  with  the  girls, 
tincle.  .  I  am  sure  that  that  would  help  matters." 

"  It  would  help  a  little,  in  more  ways  than  one ;  for  if 
you  were  here  I  should  krrow  your  grandfather  would  be 
on  hand  most  of  the  time.  But  you  could  never  get  his 
consent  to  such  a  plan." 

"  O,  I  shall  persuade  him.  Think,  Lydia,"  she  added, 
enthusiastically,  "  how  splendid  it  will  be  to  stay  all  win- 
ter, and  go'  to  school  together  every  day,  and  study  our 
lessons  together  in  the  evenings." 

"Great  deal  of  study  evenings  there  would  be,"  re- 
marked Heman,  rather  disrespectfully;  but  no  one  took 
any  notice  of  him. 

Lydia  was  not  sanguine  with  regard  to  her  cousin's  plan. 
"You  know,  Lucy,"  she  said,  "grandpa  hardly  allows  you 
out  of  his  sight.  When  you  wanted  to  go  to  Windham 
this  fall  to  see  Mary  Elliot,  you  had  to  take  the  time  when 
he  was  gone  to  New  York  for  a  week." 

"  Well,  at  least  I  can  try  what  virtue  there  is  in  teasing. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  23 

Perhaps  I  can  make  him  say  yes,  for  the  sake  of  getting 
rid  of  ine.  I  shall  tell  him  it  is  so  much  nearer  to  the 
school-house,  you  know.  But  you  have  not  told  me  yet 
who  is  to  teach  the  school  this  winter." 

"  I  heard,"  said  Heman,  "  that  Sam  "Warren  had  applied 
for  it  again  this  year." 

"  Sam  Warren ! "  ejaculated  Lydia  and  Lucy  in  a  breath, 
and  with  the  same  scornful  accent. 

"  I  don't  believe  the  deacon  means  to  engage  him,"  con- 
tinued Pieman.  "  But  I  don't  see  why  Lucy  should  object 
to  him,"  he  added,  slyly ;  "  Sam  was  more  partial  to  her 
last  winter  than  to  any  scholar  he  had." 

"  Now,  Heman,  don't  be  a  goose." 

"But  you  remember,  Lucy,  he  was  up  to  your  house 
three  or  four  evenings  in  a  week." 

"  I  ought  to  remember  it,"  pouted  the  beauty ;  "  I  think 
grandpa  and  I  underwent  enough  from  his  visits." 

"  O,  Lucy,"  cried  Lydia,  laughing,  "  do  you  remember 
the  night  you  hid  in  the  clothes-press  to  get  out  of  Sam's 
way,  and  had  to  stay  there  more  than  two  hours? " 

"  Does  she  hide  in  the  clothes-press  when  Ben  Miller 
comes  ?  "  asked  Heman,  slyly. 

"I  never  knew  her  to,"  laughed  Lydia;  and  Lucy's 
cheek  was  mantled  with  a  faint,  conscious  blush,  as  she 
rose  from  the  table,  declaring  that  she  heard  a  horse  out- 
side, and  knew  that  Jerry  had  come  for  her. 


24  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  QUIET  fortnight  crept  away.  Mr.  Page,  urged  on  all 
sides,  had  made  his  final  preparations  and  departed  on  his 
long-projected  journey,  leaving  the  regency  of  his  domestic 
kingdom  in  Hannah's  faithful  hands.  The  latter  assumed 
the  new  responsibility,  as  she  did  everything  else,  in  a  tran- 
quil, matter-of-course  sort  of  way,  that  made  little  of  any 
description  of  burden. 

It  was  Saturday  afternoon,  and  the  work  of  the  week 
was  nearly  done.  About  the  large,  cheerful  kitchen  every- 
thing was  in  the  most  perfect  order.  The  spotless  floor ; 
the  high  mantel-piece,  whereon  were  ranged  the  iron  can- 
dlesticks and  snuffers,  a  shot-pouch,  a  tobacco-box,  and 
sundry  collections  of  choice  garden  seeds;  the  very  row 
of  chairs  set  primly  against  the  wall, — proclaimed  the  tidy 
housekeeper.  The  atmosphere  was  fragrant  with  delicious 
odors  from  the  Satin-day's  baking,  which  had  just  emerged 
from  the  oven,  and  was  cooling  on  the  dressers.  The  room 
was  empty  now,  and  silent  but  for  the  contented  purring 
of  a  cat  beside  the  stove,  and  the  ticking  of  the  tall  wooden 
clock  behind  the  door. 

Hannah  stood  in  the  east  door,  watching  her  brother 
and  sister  as  they  seated  themselves  in  an  open  wagon, 
behind  a  strong  bay  horse,  preparatory  to  setting  forth  on 
an  expedition,  half  of  fun,  half  of  business,  down  among  the 


HILLSBORO'   FARMS.  25 

valley  farms.  The  last  arrangements  made,  and  the  last 
injunction  given  to  forget  none  of  the  errands,  and  to  be 
back  before  dark,  Heman  turned  his  horse's  head  down  the 
descent,  leaving  the  elder  sister  standing  alone  in  the  door- 
way. Hannah  watched  them  as  they  wound  slowly  down 
the  hill  and  along  the  valley ;  and  when  they  were  quite 
out  of  sight  she  still  remained,  gazing  far  away  over  the 
sunny  landscape,  held,  half  unconsciously  to  herself,  by  its 
stillness  and  tranquil  beauty.  It  was  a  rare  day  for  New 
England,  bordering  as  it  did  so  closely  upon  the  winter, 
yet  suggesting,  with  its  cairn  airs  and  hazy  sunshine,  the 
transient  splendors  of  the  Indian  summer.  The  gray,  leaf- 
less forests  rimmed  the  horizon,  showing  like  outline  pic- 
tures against  the  pale  blue  sky.  An  almost  solemn  stillness 
brooded  over  hill,  and  wood,  and  field.  Through  the  slum- 
brous air  the  few  occasional  sounds  came  mellowed  to  the 
ear,  filling  the  mind  with  vague,  unreal  images,  and  sug- 
gesting shadowy  possibilities,  with  dim  hints  and  revela- 
tions of  something  beyond  our  daily  common  sphere,  some- 
thing which  comes  to  us  familiar,  but  broken  and  indistinct 
as  the  fragments  of  a  dream.  On  the  brown  hill-sides  and 
through  the  wide  fields  there  was  no  sign  of  life,  save  here 
and  there  a  thin,  pale  wreath  of  smoke  from  some  hidden 
farm-house  chimney.  At  intervals  a  crow,  with  long  and 
lazy  flight,  sailed  by,  and  disappeared  in  the  dim  horizon. 
The  distant  bark  of  a  dog  for  a  moment  broke  the  stillness, 
or  from  far  down  the  valley  came  the  strokes  of  a  wood- 
cutter's axe. 

While  Hannah  stood  dreamily  enjoying  the  scene,  the 
charmed  silence  was  broken  by  the  slow  reverberation  of 
distant  wheels  over  the  frozen  ground.  Nearer  and  nearer, 


26  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

now  deadened  by  some  intervening  swell,  now  rising 
loader  than  'before,  a  long,  undulating  wave  of  sound  rolled 
over  the  sleeping  hill-side,  broken  at  last,  like  spray,  into  a 
thousand  sharpened  echoes.  Suddenly  the  sound  ceased, 
and  Hannah,  her  reverie  abruptly  ended,  looked  up,  and 
saw  a  horse  and  wagon  standing  in  the  road  opposite  the 
house.  In  the  vehicle  were  an  elderly  man  and  a  young 
girl,  the  latter  already  preparing  to  alight.  Shading  her 
eyes  with  her  hand,  Hannah  went  down  to  the  road-side. 

"  Good  afternoon,  grandfather.  Aren't  you  coming  in  ? 
Let  me  take  your  basket,  Lucy." 

"Not  to-day,  Hannah,"  replied  the  old  man,  as  Lucy 
sprang  lightly  out.  "  Where  are  the  children  ?  " 

"  They  have  just  gone  down  the  middle  road ;  did  you 
want  them?" 

"  I  thought  perhaps  Lydia  might  like  to  ride  down  to 
the  Centre  with  me,  as  it  is  a  fine  afternoon." 

"  Heman  has  gone  to  the  Centre  to  get  a  few  things  at 
the  store ;  and  Lydia  went  with  him  as  far  as  Mr.  Per- 
kins's, and  was  going  to  walk  back." 

"  Come  up  into  the  wagon  again,  Lucy,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, "  and  visit  Hannah  another  day.  I  don't  want  to  ride 
alone." 

"  How  can  I,  grandpa,  with  this  old  bonnet  on  ?  " 

"  O,  if  you  bring  up  your  old  bonnet,  I  have  not  another 
word  to  say.  That  is  a  final  argument  always.  I  do  hope, 
Hannah,  that  you  will  see  to  it  that  Lydia's  head  is  not  so 
stuffed  with  nonsense  and  vanity  as  this  child's  is." 

"  Be  sure,  grandpa,  you  remember  my  last  vanity  —  five 
yards  of  velvet  ribbon,  four  inches  wide :  now,  please  don't 
forget." 


HILLSBOBO'   FARMS.  27 

"You  see  she  is  incorrigible,  Hannah,"  said  the  old  man, 
smiling  more  in  pride  than  rebuke  on  the  saucy  girl,  as  he 
gathered  up  his  reins  and  drove  away. 

Hannah  turned  towards  the  house,  and  Lucy  followed 
her  to  the  kitchen.  She  threw  oft'  her  bonnet  and  shawl, 
and  sat  down  in  the  sunshine  by  the  window. 

"  Take  your  things  into  the  sitting-room,"  said  her  cous- 
in, "  and  I  will  be  in  there  in  a  minute." 

"  Why  not  let  us  stay  here,  Hannah  ?  I  think  this  is 
the  pleasantest  room  in  the  house." 

"  Well,  dear,  if  you  like  it,  we  will  stay  here,  and  I  will 
bring  down  the  rug  I  was  braiding.  It  does  rather  litter 
the  sitting-room  carpet." 

Left  to  herself,  Lucy  turned  to  the  window,  and  sat  look- 
ing up  the  slope  into  the  orchard,  where  the  afternoon  sun 
was  falling  pleasantly  through  the  gnarled  and  leafless 
boughs.  There  was  a  thoughtful  expression  on  her  bright 
face  quite  unusual.  Lucy  Fraser  was  seldom  thoughtful. 
Like  every  impressible  girl  of  seventeen,  she  indulged  at 
times  in  absorbed  and  delicious  reverie ;  but  her  life  had 
been  too  entirely  one  of  sensations,  she  lived  too  com- 
pletely in  the  pleasure  of  the  passing  hour,  to  have  learned 
to  think.  She  was  intelligent,  and,  in  a  solid,  unornamen- 
tal  way,  extremely  well  educated.  From  her  grandfather, 
too,  she  had  managed  to  derive  a  great  deal  of  general 
information  on  a  variety  of  subjects,  but  her  knowledge 
of  life,  her  interests,  her  sympathies,  and  her  ideas  were 
bounded  by  the  Hillsboro'  horizon.  Had  she  been  less 
happy,  or  less  secluded  from  the  world,  her  active  intelli- 
gence might  have  found  something  limited  and  unsatisfy- 
ing in  her  life.  Even  as  it  was,  she  was  sometimes  vaguely 


28  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

conscious  of  its  incompleteness ;  but  the  feeling  was  soon 
forgotten  in  some  fresh  enjoyment.  Perhaps  it  was  a  dim 
consciousness  of  this  kind  which  gave  to-day  the  shade  of 
unusual  seriousness  to  the  bright  young  face;  perhaps  — 
such  things  are  possible  —  there  already  rested  upon  her 
the  advancing  shadow  of  some  new  influence  which  was  to 
mould  her  life.  When  her  cousin  reentered  the  room,  she 
looked  up  as  one  who  calls  his  thoughts  back  from  a  great 
distance,  and  said,  — 

"So  uncle  David  is  really  gone,  Hannah.  How  you 
must  miss  him ! " 

"  Yes,  we  miss  him  a  good  deal,  of  course ;  and  it  seems 
rather  lonesome  since  the  hired  man  and  Deborah  are 
gone,  as  it  leaves  only  the  children  and  me." 

"  But  I  thought  you  intended  to  keep  the  man  all  win- 
ter." 

"  There  will  be  nothing  for  him  to  do,  and  if  I  take  the 
master  to  board,  I  don't  want  two  men  to  wait  upon." 

"  The  master,  Hannah !  Have  you  promised  to  board 
the  schoolmaster?" 

"Yes;  I  found  father  would  feel  a  great  deal  easier 
about  us  if  he  knew  there  was  a  man  in  the  house ;  and  on 
the  whole,  when  the  long  winter  nights  come,  I  shall  feel 
better  myself  not  to  be  alone  with  the  children.  So,  as  the 
choice  lay  between  Ezra  and  the  schoolmaster,  I  took  the 
master,  and  told  Deacon  Sharpe  he  might  bring  him." 

"I  suppose  he  must  come,  then;  but  he  will  be  im- 
mensely in  the  way.  I  had  planned  to  have  such  a  good 
time  this  winter,  just  you  and  I,  and  Lydia  and  Heman !" 

"  Why,  Lucy !  Have  your  father  and  mother  really  con- 
Ben  ted  to  let  you  stay  with  us?" 


HILLSBORO     FARMS.  29 

"O,  they  said  yes  long  ago;  the  trouble  was  ail  with 
grandpa.  But  last  night  he  told  me,  if  my  heart  was  really 
set  on  staying  with  you  and  Lydia,  I  might.  But,  the  dear 
old  fox !  he  hedged  his  consent  all  round  with  conditions. 
I  haven't  the  faintest  idea  what  they  were,  and  there  were 
dozens  of  them ;  but  I  accepted  every  one,  sure  he  would 
remember  them  if  I  couldn't.  It  was  good  of  him,  Han- 
nah—  was  it  not?  for  I  am  sure  he  will  miss  me  badly;  per- 
haps not  so  much  since  grandma  is  so  feeble,  for  he  spends 
most  of  his  time  with  her." 

"  That  reminds  me  to  ask,  How  is  grandma  to-day  ?  " 
"  Much  as  usual.     The  doctor  called  this  morning.     He 
says  she  is  quite  out  of  danger,  and  with  care  will  rally  and 
be  as  well  as  for  several  years.     But  about  boarding  this 
man,  Hannah  —  I  don't  like  it  at  all." 

"  Perhaps  we  shall  find  him  very  pleasant,  Lucy." 
"  And  perhaps  he  will  prove  just  such  a  disagreeable  oaf 
as  Sam  Warren." 

"  JT never  thought  Sam  so  very  disagreeable." 
"  Then  I  don't  know  what  you  could  have  been  thinking 
of,  Hannah.     To  be  sure  he  never  undertook  to  be  in  love 
with  you,  and  that  may  make  a  difference." 

"  Possibly  it  may,"  replied  her  cousin,  laughing.  "  But 
they  say  Sam  is  dreadfully  disappointed  at  not  getting  the 
school  again  this  year ;  says  he  hasn't  been  fairly  treated, 
and  runs  down  the  new  master  at  a  great  rate — thinks  we 
shall  have  no  kind  of  a  school." 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  all  the  girls  have  made  up  their 
minds  to  have  a  real  good  time  this  winter.  Mother  says 
I  shall  soon  be  too  old  to  go  to  school,  and  must  improve 
my  time ;  and  that  is  what  I  mean  to  do." 


30  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  sorry  some  day,  Lucy,  that  you 
don't  improve  your  time  to  more  purpose." 

"  I  do,  Hannah ;  I  have  the  best  time  I  possibly  can." 

"  You  know  that  is  not  what  I  mean.  You  don't  try  to 
improve  your  mind  as  you  ought,  and  you  will  be  sorry  for 
it  some  day.  Mark  that.  You  will  not  always  live  at 
home,  but  will  have  to  go  out  into  the  world,  and  think 
and  act  for  yourself." 

"  I  shall  take  grandpa  along  for  any  severe  thinking  I 
may  have  to  do.  But  I  should  like  to  know,  Hannah 
Page,  how  a  little  mathematics,  more  or  less,  is  to  help  me 
in  thinking  and  acting  for  myself?  " 

"  You  know  every  one  says  habits  of  thought  and  study 
strengthen  the  mind  and  sober  the  judgment." 

"  Strength  of  mind  and  sober  judgment  are  just  what  I 
don't  like.  They  make  people  solemn,  and  conceited,  and 
stupid,  and  disagreeable,  and  I  hate  them." 

"  But  you  like  Mary  Elliot,  and  she  knows  more  than 
any  girl  you  ever  knew." 

"  O,  yes ;  but  we  like  Mary  because  she  is  so  gay  and 
so  good ;  not  because  she  is  so  very  wise." 

"But  Mary  is  just  as  much  at  home  with  very  polite  and 
educated  people  as  she  is  with  us  plain  folks." 

"  I  know  it,  Hannah ;  but  Mary  is  different  from  most 
girls.  At  Windham  she  sees  a  great  many  grand  people, 
for  the  Elliots,  though  they  are  poor,  are  amonj^the  best 
families  there,  and  Mary  cares  about  pleasing  them.  When 
I  was  at  Mrs.  Elliot's  this  fall,  I  saw  a  good  many  of  Mary's 
friends,  and  I  suppose  of  course  they  were  very  nice ;  but 
I  enjoyed'  myself  better  when  we  were  alone,  nobody  but 
Mary,  Miles,  and  their  mother." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  31 

"I  suppose  you  did  riot  like  Mary's  friends  because  they 
were  rational  people,  and  had  something  sensible  to  say." 

"  Possibly ;  but  I  know  one  sensible  person  I  do  like, 
even  when  she  scolds  me  for  not  having  a  ray  of  sense  my- 
self. When  I  have  enjoyed  myself  a  little  more,  Hannah, 
I  mean  to  turn  sober  and  rational  as  —  as  you  are.  Now 
tell  me,  when  is  the  master  coming?  " 

"I  expect  him  to-night.  Just  come  and  look  at  the 
room  I  have  got  ready  for  him." 

Laying  down  her  work,  Hannah  led  the  way  through 
the  sitting-room  and  across  the  front  entry  to  the  door  of 
the  parlor,  which  she  threw  open.  The  parlor  was  a  large, 
low-ceiled  room,  with  a  handsome,  home-made  carpet  in 
broad,  shaded  stripes  of  brown  and  green  covering  the 
floor.  The  furniture  was  old-fashioned,  spider-legged  ma- 
hogany and  hair-cloth,  bought  for  Mrs.  Page  by  her  father 
at  the  time  of  her  marriage.  It  was  in  a  wonderful  state 
of  preservation,  and  Hannah  Page's  parlor  was  regarded  as 
one  of  the  most  sumptuous  in  Hillsboro'.  Between  the 
front  windows  stood  a  card-table, — never  used  for  play, — 
on  which  were  displayed  a  number  of  books  in  brilliant 
bindings,  laid  in  prim  little  piles  of  three  or  four,  the  fam- 
ily miniatures,  and  a  small  basket  made  of  shells.  The  last 
contained  cards  bearing  the  names  of  various  friends  and 
acquaintances  of  the  family.  Some  of  these  were  enriched 
with  emblematic  devices,  such  as  hearts  transfixed  with 
arrows,  yoked  doves,  Cupids,  and  the  like,  while  others 
showed  choice  selections  of  poetry,  testifying  to  the  undy- 
ing nature  of  the  giver's  regard.  On  the  mantel-piece  was 
a  pretty  collection  of  shells,  corals,  and  sea-fans,  a  figure  in 
plaster  of  the  infant  Samuel,  and  some  China  toys.  On 


32  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

the  wall  above,  framed  in  resplendent  gilt,  Was  the  most 
i  lit'rished  work  of  art  in  the  possession  of  the  family.  This 
was  a  landscape  done  in  water-colors,  the  work  of  Mrs. 
Page  when  a  young  lady,  and  a  pupil  at  the  Colchester 
Female  Seminary.  It  was  supposed  to  represent  a  scene 
in  Scotland,  and  in  it  were  depicted  a  castle,  a  bridge,  a 
foaming  waterfall,  distant  mountains,  rocks,  a  sunset,  trees, 
two  men,  a  boat,  and  a  dog.  Mrs.  Page  had  all  her  life 
viewed  this  painting  with  secret  satisfaction;  while  her 
husband  and  children  openly  expressed  their  admiration, 
believing  it  unsurpassed  as  a  work  of  art,  and  a  faithful 
representation  of  nature  in  the  land  of  rocks  and  heather. 

As  Hannah  pushed  open  the  shutter,  admitting  the  af- 
ternoon sunshine,  the  gay  carpet  was  seen  to  be  covered  in 
the  centre  with  a  square  of  green  baize,  upon  which  were 
arranged  a  good-sized  table  and  a  large  chintz-cushioned 
arm-chair. 

"Why,  Hannah!  You  are  not  going  to  give  him  the 
parlor.  You  will  want  it  yourself." 

"  No ;  we  seldom  have  a  fire  in  it  after  Thanksgiving ; 
and  I  thought  if  he  had  this  room  and  the  little  bedroom 
next  it,  he  would  be  quite  on  one  side,  and  out  of  the  way 
of  everything.  Then  we  can  have  our  nice  quiet  time  by 
ourselves,  as  much  as  if  he  were  not  here." 

"  So  we  can ;  and  now  it  is  all  arranged,  I  am  impatient 
to  have  him  come,  for  I  want  to  see  what  he  is  like." 

When  the  cousins  returned  to  the  kitchen,  the  short 
afternoon  was  already  wearing  to  a  close.  The  shadows 
were  lengthening,  and  the  light  on  the  distant  mountains 
growing  cold.  Already  the  chill  gray  of  evening  was 
creeping  up  from  the  valley.  Lucy  threw  a  shawl  over 


HILLSBORO'   FARMS.  33 

her  shoulders,  and  saying  she  would  walk  and  meet  Lyclia, 
went  away  down  the  hill,  singing  softly  to  hei'self.  At 
first  her  step  was  quick  and  her  song  gay,  as  she  tripped 
along  with  her  eyes  bent  on  the  ground ;  but  insensibly 
the  one  grew  slower,  and  the  other  died  upon  her  lips. 
Lower  and  lower  into  the  shadow  she  descended ;  deeper 
and  deeper  grew  the  cloud  of  reverie  that  inwrapped  her. 
What  were  the  fancies  that  floated  through  her  brain  it 
would  be  hard  to  tell,  of  such  unsubstantial  stuff  are  the 
dreams  of  youth ;  but  doubtless  they  drew  their  coloring 
in  some  degree  from  the  pensive  beauty  of  the  hour  and 
scene.  She  had  walked  for  perhaps  half  a  mile  when  she 
met  her  cousin  returning,  and  her  pretty  day-dream  was 
abandoned  for  eager,  girlish  gossip.  Lydia  was  full  of 
news. 

"  I  have  been  to  the  Perkins's,  Lucy.  Phoebe  and  Laura 
have  just  got  home,  and  they  are  both  going  to  school  this 
winter." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it." 

"  Yes ;  and  the  Smiley  girls,  too,  and  Fan  Miller,  and 
Ben." 

"  Is  Ben  Miller  going  ?  " 

"  He  told  Laura  so.  He  says  it  is  his  last  chance,  for  he 
will  be  twenty-one  in  the  spring.  I  wonder  who  that  is 
coming  behind  us." 

The  sound  of  wheels  close  at  hand  had  caught  Lucy's 
ear  also,  and  turning,  she  immediately  recognized  the  fat, 
easy-going  horse  and  comfortable  wagon  of  Deacon  Sharpe, 
the  district  school  agent.  Seated  in  the  wagon  was  the 
deacon  himself,  and  beside  him  a  slender  young  man 
wrapped  in  a  loose  overcoat.  The  glimpse  the  girls  had 
3 


34  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

Jt 

in  passing  revealed  a  pleasant  face,  lighted  by  smiling, 
dark -blue  eyes.  Lucy  had  got  her  wish;  she  had  seen 
what  the  new  teacher  was  like.  As  the  wagon  passed  on, 
the  deacon  was  saying  to  his  companion,  — 

"  Them  two  girls  will  be  scholars  of  yourn,  I  reckon." 

"  Indeed !     Who  are  they  ?  " 

"Wai,  one  of  'em  is  David  Page's  darter  —  lives  right 
up  here  where  you  are  a-goin'  to  board;  and  t'other  is 
Squire  Robert  Eraser's  gal.  Good  many  nice  folks  in  this 
deestrict." 

"  That  must  be  the  master,  Lucy,"  said  Lydia,  in  a  whis- 
per. "  Does  he  look  as  you  expected  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  had  not  thought  much  about  him." 


HILLSBORO'   FARMS.  35 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  next  morning  broke  fair  and  sunny,  with  promise 
of  rivalling  in  serene  beauty  its  predecessors.  But,  as  the 
day  advanced,  a  gray  shadow  dimmed  without  obscuring 
the  sunshine,  and  the  air  assumed  a  chill,  which  penetrated 
almost  imperceptibly.  As  the  morning  wore  on,  from  va- 
rious directions,  laden  with  sober,  church-going  farmers 
and  their  families,  came  numerous  wagons,  rolling  slowly, 
and  with  far-resounding  wheels,  over  the  frozen  ground 
towards  the  place  of  worship.  This  was  the  district  school- 
house,  a  lonely-looking,  square,  red  building,  standing  some 
sixty  rods  down  the  hill  from  the  home  of  the  Pages.  As 
the  vehicles  were  discharged  of  their  occupants  at  the 
door,  the  horses  were  led  away  to  the  adjoining  fences, 
where,  with  bridles  off,  and  covered  with  blankets,  they 
were  supplied  with  hay  brought  for  that  purpose  under  the 
wagon-seats,  and  fed  quietly  thereon,  while  their  owners 
were  feeding  on  the  bread  of  life  within.  About  the  door 
were  gathered  in  the  sunshine  little  knots  of  hard-handed, 
stoop-shouldered  men,  discussing  the  weather,  the  crops, 
and  other  topics  of  common  interest ;  and  on  the  doorsteps, 
and  just  within  the  small  entry,  a  group  of  the  young  men 
and  girls  of  the  neighborhood  were  talking  in  lively  but 
subdued  tones.  An  occasional  irrepressible  laugh  was 
quickly  smothered  in  a  handkerchief,  and  accompanied  by 


36  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

an  apprehensive  glance  towards  the  inner  door,  through 
which  was  visible  a  cluster  of  matrons  seated  around  the 
stove.  It  was  still  early  for  the  service ;  but  your  real 
country  congregation  is  never  late.  Its  members  are  af- 
flicted with  no  fashionable  terrors  of  being  too  early.  It 
is,  on  the  contrary,  the  intention,  particularly  of  the 
younger  portion,  to  be  at  least  half  an  hour  before  service 
time.  To  this  class  of  worshippers  the  morning  chat  and 
the  interval  between  the  services  are  often  the  only  occa- 
sions afforded,  for  weeks  together,  for  pleasant  intercourse 
and  the  exercise  of  social  feeling. 

Conspicuous  among  the  youthful  loiterers  was  a  very 
pretty  girl  of  eighteen,  with  a  round,  good-humored  face, 
dressed  with  some  pretensions  to  style,  and  having  the  air 
of  one  who  felt  herself  of  consequence  in  her  little  set. 
And,  indeed,  Miss  Laura  Perkins,  being  a  beauty  and  ac- 
knowledged belle,  had  a  right  to  plume  herself  upon  her 
social  consequence.  She  stood  just  within  the  entry,  talk- 
ing with  a  tall,  athletic,  sun-burned  young  fellow,  who 
leaned  against  the  door  beside  her.  Despite  the  evidences 
of  country  breeding,  there  was  something  in  the  appear- 
ance of  this  young  man  which  was  very  attractive  —  some- 
thing at  once  modest  and  manly.  Ben  Miller  —  once  or 
twice  before  referred  to  in  this  history  —  was  a  universal 
favorite.  Good  looks,  good  temper,  and  a  kind  of  frank 
gallantry  of  spirit  which  he  possessed,  are  traits  which  find 
acknowledgment  everywhere.  On  this  occasion  Miss 
Laura  had  brought  the  whole  battery  of  her  charms  to 
bear  upon  him,  and,  by  her  engaging  smiles,  sought  to  pre- 
vent numerous  quick  glances  up  the  long  hill,  down  which 
Lucy  Fraser  must  come  on  her  way  to  meeting.  It  was 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  37 

well  understood  among  the  young  people  that  Ben  Miller 
admired  Lucy  more  than  any  girl  in  Hillsboro' ;  but  of  the 
extent  of  her  regard  for  him  neither  he  nor  they  could  so 
well  determine.  That  her  father  and  mother  liked  him 
was  plain,  and  it  was  also  plain  that  Lucy  allowed  his  ad- 
miration, and  permitted  him  oftenest  to  be  her  escort  to 
the  various  merrymakings  in  the  neighborhood.  But  she 
seemed  to  enjoy  herself  just  as  well  when  he  was  absent. 
She  was  glad  to  see  him  when  he  came,  but  she  never 
smiled  the  less  when  he  went.  Sometimes,  indeed,  she 
would  seem  to  prefer  him,  but  the  next  hour  would  nearly 
break  his  heart  by  her  indifference. 

Ben  had  at  length  become  so  much  interested  in  Miss 
Laura's  lively  chatter,  that  he  failed  to  observe  the  chaise 
of  Squire  Fraser  descending  the  hill,  or  to  see  Lucy,  as  it 
came  opposite  her  uncle's,  alight  and  go  in,  leaving  her 
father  and  mother  to  continue  on  their  way  without  her. 
He  was  startled,  a  moment  after,  by  a  low  exclamation 
from  his  young  sister  Fanny,  who  stood  near :  — 

"  There  is  Mrs.  Robert  Fraser ;  and,  I  declare,  she  has 
got  on  a  splendid  new  set  of  furs." 

Ben  turned  so  quickly  as  to  nearly  lose  his  balance, 
standing  as  he  did  on  the  threshold.  His  feeling  of  an- 
noyance at  not  seeing  the  bright  face  he  looked  for  was 
not  lessened  by  the  remark  from  Sarah  Smiley,  a  tall, 
red-haired  girl,  — 

"La!  Ben  Miller,  you  needn't  break  your  neck.  Lucy 
isn't  with  'em." 

A  subdued  titter  ran  round  the  circle,  and  Laura  said, 
with  the  amiable  desire  to  cover  Ben's  embarrassment,  — 

"  The  boys  told  me  last  night  that  the  master  had  come. 
Did  you  see  him,  Ben  ?  " 


38  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  I  saw  somebody  with  the  deacon." 

"  That  was  him,"  said  Sarah  Smiley;  who,  like  Mrs. 
Squeers,  was  no  grammarian.  "  The  deacon  told  our  folks 
he  had  been  to  fetch  him  over.  I  wonder  if  he  will  come 
to  meeting." 

The  people  were  now  passing  in  and  taking  their  places, 
for  the  minister,  a  little,  withered,  pious-looking  old  man, 
had  entered  and  seated  himself  in  the  desk.  Just  behind 
the  preacher,  and  quite  unperceived  till  they  reached  the 
door,  came  Hannah  Page  and  Lucy,  and  with  them  the 
new  teacher.  They  had  had  a  pleasant  walk,  judging  by 
their  animated  faces.  As  they  entered,  Lucy  bestowed  a 
little  smile  of  recognition  on  the  group  of  idlers,  of  whom 
she  had  often  made  one,  but,  without  pausing,  proceeded 
with  Hannah  into  the  school-room.  Ben  Miller's  eyes  fol- 
lowed them  uneasily,  and,  as  he  saw  the  stranger  seat 
himself  by  Lucy,  he  experienced  the  first  pang  of  real 
jealousy  which  she  had  ever  caused  him. 

The  house  filled  rapidly,  and,  while  the  preacher  read 
the  hymn  in  a  thin,  nasal  voice,  and  the  choir  sang  it  to 
the  droning  accompaniment  of  a  bass-viol,  the  new  teacher 
had  leisure  to  observe  his  future  pupils,  and  they,  in  turn, 
to  survey  him. 

Ralph  Fanshaw,  the  "  new  master,"  was  a  young  man 
from  Colchester,  the  large  county  town,  some  fifteen  miles 
away.  Of  good  family  and  well  connected,  his  youth  had 
been  spent  in  the  enjoyment  of  some  wealth.  He  had 
received  an  expensive  education,  but  in  early  manhood, 
just  as  his  college  course  was  closing,  he  had  found  him- 
self with  his  own  energies  alone  to  depend  on.  In  this 
emergency  he  had  turned,  as  so  many  of  our  young  men 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  39 

do,  to  teaching  as  a  means  of  support  while  studying  a 
profession.  It  had  been  a  rather  uncongenial  life  to  a 
somewhat  indolent  man  with  quiet  tastes ;  but,  persevered 
in,  it  had  now  nearly  brought  success.  In  the  spring  he 
would  be  admitted  to  the  bar  and  to  a  partnership  with 
Mr.  Burke,  an  old  family  friend  at  Colchester,  with  whom 
he  had  been  studying.  It  was  with  the  feeling  of  satis- 
faction which  we  have  in  a  task  nearly  accomplished  that 
he  entered  for  the  last  time  upon  the  duties  of  a  teacher ; 
and  he  experienced  a  pleasant  sense  of  rest  as  he  floated 
into  the  quiet  haven  that  was  to  shelter  him  for  the  winter. 
The  little  world  of  Hillsboro'  surveyed  him  on  that  Sun- 
day morning,  and  decided  that  it  should  like  him;  and, 
indeed,  with  a  rather  attractive  person,  and  quiet,  refined 
manners,  he  seldom  failed  to  please.  Contact  with  the 
world  and  jostling  with  rude  natures  had  not  marred  a 
certain  gentle  urbanity,  which  was  with  him  as  much  char- 
acter as  manner,  and  indicated  something  of  the  cultivated 
home  atmosphere  in  which  his  youth  had  been  passed. 

While  the  droning  voice  of  the  preacher  discoursed  of 
heaven  and  the  final  rest  of  the  saints,  and  while  the 
elders  listened  and  nodded,  and  their  juniors  listened  and 
exchanged,  under  cover  of  the  benches,  telegraphic  signals 
which  in  no  wise  related  to  what  the  good  man  was  saying, 
Lucy  sat  between  Hannah  and  Fanshaw,  and  listened, 
even  more  attentively  than  usual  to  the  words  of  the 
preacher,  with  now  and  then,  it  is  possible,  a  thought  of 
the  pleasant,  courteous  stranger  beside  her,  whom  she  had 
met  for  the  first  time  the  evening  before.  When  the  ser- 
vice was  ended  she  declined  going  home  with  her  mother, 
and,  to  Ben  Miller's  inexpressible  relief,  also  declined  Han- 


40  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

nah's  invitation  to  return  with  them,  preferring  a  ramble 
through  the  brown  fields  with  her  young  companions.  It 
was  a  delightful  walk,  over  the  wide,  frosty  hill-side,  not- 
withstanding the  pale  sunshine  and  the  chill  air.  Lucy 
never  seemed  more  gentle  and  kind,  and  poor  foolish  Ben  felt 
himself  repaid  for  weeks  of  indifference.  When  the  young 
people  returned,  Lucy  found  her  cousins  already  seated, 
and  the  service  just  commencing.  One  glance  sufficed  to 
show  her  that  Fanshaw  was  not  there ;  and,  as  she  accom- 
panied her  father  directly  home  at  the  close  of  the  meeting, 
she  did  not  see  him  again  that  night. 

As  for  Fanshaw,  he  passed  the  afternoon  alone  in  his 
room,  arranging  his  books,  writing,  and  preparing  to  be 
very  comfortable  for  the  next  three  or  four  months.  So 
employed,  the  hours  slipped  away  imperceptibly,  and  dusk 
came  on.  Going  to  the  window,  he  perceived  that  a  great 
change  had  befallen  the  day  since  he  walked  to  church  in 
the  morning.  Where  all  was  then  bright  and  sunny 
lowered  now  a  dark  and  threatening  sky.  Over  the  bleak 
hills  swept  a  moaning,  chilly  wind,  while  now  and  then 
fell  fine,  sharp  flakes  of  snow.  The  whole  landscape 
looked  dreary  and  desolate  in  the  extreme ;  and  it  was 
with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  he  obeyed  Hannah's  summons 
to  tea,  and  sought  the  light  and  warmth  of  the  sitting- 
room. 

As  they  lingered  round  the  table,  Fanshaw  asked, — 

"Where  is  Miss  Lucy  to-night?  Did  she  not  return 
from  church  with  you  ?  " 

"  No ;  she  went  right  home  from  meeting.  She  always 
reads  to  her  grandfather  Sunday  afternoon.  I  will  say  for 
Lucy,  wild  as  she  is,  she  never  forgets  her  grandfather." 


HILLSBORO'   FARMS.  41 

"  Is  she  wild  ?     I  should  hardly  have  thought  it." 

"  I  am  afraid  she  is.  Fine  weather  is  the  only  thing  she 
ever  seems  to  feel  any  anxiety  about." 

"  She  is  an  only  child,  I  think  you  said." 

"  Yes ;  and  that  accounts  for  a  good  deal." 

"  Certainly ;  the  spoiling  of  only  children  has  come  to 
be  a  proverb." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  suppose  I  think  Lucy  quite  spoiled," 
answered  Hannah,  jealous  for  her  favorite ;  "  she  is  a  good 
girl,  and  capable,  too ;  but  everything  comes  so  easy  to  her 
that  she  never  applies  herself." 

"  Indolent,  perhaps." 

"  No,  O,  no,  indeed !  but  so  thoughtless  !  She  doesn't 
seem  to  care  for  the  things  other  girls  care  for.  She  would 
rather  ride  about  the  country  with  her  grandfather,  or  fol- 
low her  father  over  the  farm,  —  anything  sooner  than  stay 
quietly  in  the  house  and  attend  to  her  work  or  her  books, 
as  she  ought.  I  love  Lucy  myself,  almost  as  well  as  I  do 
my  own  sister,  and  for  that  very  reason  I  am  anxious  for 
her.  Life  is  not  all  a  summer  day  to  be  enjoyed." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Page,  you  are  inclined  to  look  too  much 
at  the  dismal  realities  of  life.  If  trials  should  ever  come, 
I  am  confident  your  young  cousin  will  prove  equal  to 
them.  Indeed,  I  am  by  no  means  certain  that  the  anxious, 
careful  ones  are  those  who  meet  with  most  fortitude  the 
shocks  of  life.  These  elastic  natures  bend  for  the  time, 
but  the  others  break  soonest.  Will  Miss  Lucy  be  a  scholar 
of  mine?" 

"  Yes ;  and  Lucy  is  a  good  scholar  —  better  than  most 
girls  of  her  age ;  though  such  a  perfect  child  so  far  as  any 
sense  of  responsibility  goes." 


42  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  relying  on  me  to  impress  her  with 
any  such  sense  of  responsibility,"  answered  Fanshaw,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  I  do  hope  you  will  be  able  to  steady  her  a  little.  Any 
one  she  takes  a  fancy  to  has  great  influence  with  her. 
Mary  Elliot,  who  kept  our  school  last  summer,  was  a  great 
advantage  to  Lucy  for  that  reason." 

"  I  may  not  be  so  fortunate  as  Miss  Elliot.  But  I  am 
wondering  why  my  young  friend  Lydia,  here,  is  no  more 
an  object  of  your  solicitude." 

"  Well,  for  the  matter  of  that,  there  are  several  reasons. 
Instead  of  being  an  only  child,  Lydia  is  one  of  five.  She 
hasn't  the  expectations  Lucy  has,  nor  has  she  been  flat- 
tered so  much.  Her  bringing  up  has  been  altogether  dif- 
ferent, and  she  has  a  steadier  head  naturally." 

"  "Well  done,  Hannah  Page ! "  exclaimed  Lydia.  "  That 
is  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  you  own  my  merits." 

Fanshaw  and  Hannah  both  laughed,  and  the  former, 
rising  from  the  table,  returned  to  his  own  room. 

He  put  down  his  lamp,  and,  pushing  open  the  shutter, 
looked  out.  The  snow  beat  sharply  on  the  window  pane, 
and,  far  as  his  eye  could  penetrate  through  the  gloom,  the 
ground  was  white.  It  was  winter  now  in  earnest. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  43 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ONE  bright  winter  evening,  when  Fanshaw  had  been 
several  weeks  domesticated  with  the  Pages,  Hannah's  little 
family  were  gathered  around  the  fire  in  the  comfortable 
sitting-room.  On  one  side  of  the  hearth  Hannah  herself, 
with  her  knitting-work  in  her  hand,  sat  slowly  rocking  in 
a  large  arm-chair,  and  watching  the  bright  coals  as  they 
fell.  The  time  was  past  with  her  when  she  could  see 
strange  prophetic  pictures  in  the  glowing  embers;  yet, 
practical  and  unimaginative  as  she  now  seemed,  our  Han- 
nah had  had  her  romance  and  her  dreams.  Opposite  her, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  were  Heman  and  Lyclia,  the 
former  holding  on  his  extended  hands  a  huge  skein  of  blue 
yarn,  which  his  sister  was  slowly  winding.  At  a  small 
table,  which  was  drawn  near  the  centre  of  the  room,  sat 
Lucy  Fraser,  with  an  open  book  in  her  hand,  from  which 
she  was  reading  aloud,  her  sweet  tones  falling  pleasantly 
upon  the  quiet  of  the  room.  Near  her,  Mr.  Fanshaw,  lean- 
ing indolently  back  in  his  chair,  listened  while  he  con- 
templated with  dreamy,  half-shut  eyes,  the  lovely  face  of 
his  pupil. 

The  few  weeks  which  had  elapsed  since  Lucy  first  knew 
Fanshaw  had  been  outwardly  uneventful,  yet  they  had 
really  wrought  changes  that  would  be  visible  for  long.  He 
was  the  first  young  man  of  education  and  culture  whom  she 


44  HILLSBORO'    FARM. 

had  ever  known,  and  for  the  first  time  she  felt  and  regretted 
her  own  deficiencies.  She  was  conscious  of  new  and  vague 
aspirations  arising  in  her  soul,  and  of  an  interest  before  un- 
felt,  not  alone  in  her  studies,  but  in  the  intellectual  pur- 
suits and  the  wider  sphere  of  thought  of  her  new  friend. 
She  had  met  him  at  a  time  in  her  life  which  was  most 
decisive,  a  period  when  the  higher  and  better  traits  of  her 
mind  and  character  could  be  easily  quickened  into  activ- 
ity ;  or  when  the  waters  of  a  placid  and  contented,  though 
most  incomplete  existence,  might  as  easily  flow  over  them 
forever.  A  slight  impetus  now,  in  any  direction,  might 
change  the  whole  after-current  of  her  life.  Fanshaw  had 
from  the  first  been  interested  in  Lucy,  and  his  conversation 
with  Hannah  having  led  him  to  study  her  more  closely 
than  he  might  have  otherwise  done,  he  was  not  slow  in 
perceiving  the  rich  promise  of  her  yet  unformed  character. 
Her  unusual  beauty,  too,  could  not  well  be  without  its  in- 
fluence, and  her  bright,  engaging  temper,  even  her  pretty 
wilfulness  and  coquetry,  attracted  him  greatly ;  so  that, 
with  their  constant  and  familiar  intercourse,  and  the  ab- 
sence of  all  society,  he  found  himself  giving  a  good  deal  of 
his  time,  and  a  great  many  of  his  thoughts  also,  to  his 
charming  pupil.  He  lent  her  books,  and  often  of  an  even- 
ing he  read  aloud  to  the  family;  but  it  was  always  to 
Lucy  he  turned  with  comment  or  in  admiration  of  what  he 
read.  He  arranged  French  lessons,  which  occupied  an 
hour  of  almost  every  evening,  and  were  often  prolonged  in 
pleasant  talk,  in  which  he  sought  to  draw  out  the  shy  and 
reserved  mind  of  the  young  girl.  All  this  was  very  chai-m- 
ing,  but  it  was  just  possible  that  it  might  be  dangerous  to 
both.  To  Lucy  such  companionship  was  new  and  most 


HILLSBOBO'   FARMS.  45 

delightful ;  and  what  man  of  average  vanity  could  be  in- 
sensible to  the  delicate  flattery  of  implicit  confidence  and 
innocent  admiration? 

" '  Comme  un  vague  chant,  dont  expire 
Le  lointain  et  dernier  accord; 
Comme  une  musique  cessee 
Qui  n'est  plus  que  dans  la  pens£e, 
Et  que  1'oreille  ecoute  encore,'" 

read  Lucy,  as  she  closed  the  book.  "  Is  it  not  beautiful, 
Mr.  Fanshaw?" 

"  Very  beautiful ;  but  I  was  listening,  just  then,  to  your 
accent.  It  is  excellent  —  much  better,  indeed,  than  mine. 
Pray  who  has  hitherto  been  your  teacher?" 

"I  never  really  studied  enough  to  signify,"  answered 
Lucy,  blushing  at  his  praise.  "While  Mary  Elliot  was 
teaching  our  school,  last  summer,  I  recited  a  few  lessons  to 
her ;  but  it  is  grandpa  who  has  taught  me  all  I  know." 

"Ah!  does  Captain  Fraser  speak  French?" 

"  Yes ;  he  speaks  it  beautifully.  He  has  been  in  France 
a  great  deal ;  indeed,  his  dearest  friend  is  an  old  French 
sea  captain.  Hannah,"  she  added,  "  do  you  remember  that 
man  ?  He  came  to  see  grandpa  once,  years  ago." 

"  Yes ;  I  remember  him  perfectly.  A  droll,  black,  little 
old  man.  What  was  his  name,  Lucy  ?  " 

"It  was  Lascaux  —  Andre  Lascaux.  He  has  a  grand- 
daughter, Julie,  just  my  age;  and,  do  you  know,  she  sent 
me,  not  long  ago,  a  bracelet  woven  of  her  hair,  —  such 
pretty,  black  hair,  —  and  the  sweetest  letter!  I  want 
to  send  her  something  in  return ;  but  I  cannot  think 
of  anything  half  pretty  enough.  Bless  me !  here  it  is 


46  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

half  past  seven  o'clock ;  and  I  must  go  home  and  back  to- 
night." 

"  Did  I  not  say  that  if  you  would  wait  and  read  a  lesson, 
I  would  go  with  you  ?  "  said  Fanshaw,  rising  and  gather* 
ing  up  the  books. 

"  You  said  so ;  but  it  is  not  necessary.  I  am  not  at  all 
afraid." 

"  I  presume  not ;  but  it  is  too  late  to  go  alone.  I  will 
put  away  these  books  while  you  bring  your  hood  and 
shawl." 

It  was  a  clear,  starlight  night,  keen  and  frosty  —  one 
of  those  nights  when  the  stars  twinkle  sharply,  and  the 
snow  treads  under  foot  with  a  short,  crisp  sound;  when 
the  blood  comes  tingling  to  the  cheeks,  and  the  first 
breath  of  the  chill  air  cuts  like  a  knife.  Fanshaw  drew 
his  companion's  arm  closely  within  his  own,  and  they  com- 
menced the  long  ascent  towards  Lucy's  home,  their  quick, 
regular  footsteps  for  some  time  the  only  sound  that  broke 
the  stillness.  Their  way  led  for  some  distance  up  the  long 
hill  towards  the  west ;  but  when  it  reached  the  point 
where  the  road  began  to  fall  into  the  valley  beyond,  they 
turned  directly  to  the  north.  Here  the  road  was  still  as- 
cending, though  more  gently  and  gradually  than  before, 
and  at  the  end  of  half  a  mile  they  reached  the  pleasant 
home  of  the  Frasers.  It  was  a  large,  handsome,  white 
farm-house,  with  old-fashioned  square  roof,  and  green  doors 
and  blinds.  In  summer,  roses  and  flowering  shrubs  clus- 
tered about  the  windows,  and  graceful,  plumy  elms  flung 
their  shadows  on  the  sward  in  front.  The  surrounding 
farm  lay  on  the  sunny  south-western  slope  of  the  hill,  and 
this,  with  the  large  orchards  clustering  in  the  rear,  gave 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  47 

the  house  a  warm  and  sheltered  appearance,  while,  from 
its  elevated  situation,  it  commanded  a  view  over  a  mag- 
nificent reach  of  country. 

Both  Lucy  and  Fanshaw  had  found  their  long  walk  ex- 
tremely pleasant.  Their  conversation  had  fallen,  as  it 
frequently  did  now,  into  a  strain  exceedingly  confidential 
and  unreserved.  A  mingling  of  half-sportive  sentiment 
and  half-serious  jest,  with  now  and  then  touches  of  deeper 
and  more  earnest  feeling,  it  was  just  the  kind  of  talk  an 
inexperienced  girl,  like  Lucy,  finds  so  fascinating,  but 
which,  of  all  idle  indulgences,  is  among  the  most  dan- 
gerous. 

As  they  drew  near  the  house,  Lucy's  favorite  Newfound- 
land, Carlo,  came  bounding  down  the  path,  barking  joy- 
ously, and  thrusting  his  great  muzzle  into  the  little  -hand 
his  mistress  held  out  to  him.  At  the  doorstep  Lucy 
dropped  her  companion's  arm,  and,  springing  forward, 
opened  the  door,  exclaiming,  gayly,  — 

"'On  Heaven  and  on  thy  lady  call, 
And  enter  our  enchanted  hall ! ' " 

Fanshaw  had  lent  her  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake "  the 
week  before.  He  answered  in  the  same  strain,  — 

"'My  hope,  my  trust,  my  heaven  must  be, 
My  gentle  guide,  in  following  thee.' " 

The  sitting-room  into  which  Lucy  led  the  way  was  a 
large  apartment,  softly  carpeted,  richly  curtained,  full  of 
warmth  and  light.  All  the  appointments  and  surround- 
ings of  Lucy's  home  were  far  handsomer  and  more  expen- 
sive than  any  of  her  neighbors  possessed,  though  the 


48  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

habits  and  manners  of  the  family  were  as  simple  and  unpre- 
tending as  those  of  the  humblest.  Captain  Fraser  and  his 
son  were  the  only  occupants  of  the  room.  The  former  stood 
squarely  on  the  hearth-rug,  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  and 
his  hands  clasped  under  his  coat-skirts,  talking  to  his  son, 
who,  in  an  arm-chair  beside  the  fire,  was  slowly  and  very 
carefully  paring  an  apple.  The  captain  was  a  tall  and 
powerfully-built  old  man,  as  erect  as  at  twenty-five,  with  a 
massive  head,  and  bold,  square-cut  features,  bronzed  with 
the  suns  of  many  years.  His  eyes  were  keen  and  brilliant, 
their  undimmed  fire  almost  belying  the  story  of  age  told 
by  his  iron-gray  hair  and  beard.  His  manner  was  brusque, 
but  kindly ;  and  it  had  the  coolness  and  self-possession  of 
one  who  had  dealt  much  with  the  great,  busy  world,  and 
known  men  in  masses  and  under  a  variety  of  aspects.  He 
had  a  hearty,  ringing  voice,  imperative  and  decided,  like 
his  granddaughter  Hannah's,  and  a  laugh  it  was  impossi- 
ble not  to  join  with. 

Squire  Robert  Fraser  resembled  his  father  in  that  he 
was  tall  and  large ;  but  he  had  a  fair,  florid'  face,  with  seri- 
ous, blue  eyes,  a  head  slightly  bald,  and  a  grave,  deliberate 
manner,  more  primitive  than  the  old  man's,  and  with  a 
flavor  of  the  hills  in  it.  There  was  a  mild  air  of  conse- 
quence about  him,  natural  to  the  most  prominent  man,  on 
the  score  of  wealth  and  intelligence,  in  Hillsboro'.  He 
held  many  offices  of  trust  in  his  town  and  county,  was  a 
justice  of  the  peace,  and  had  represented  his  district  for 
several  years  in  the  state  legislature. 

The  old  man  greeted  Fanshaw's  entrance  with  a  friendly 
nod,  and,  while  his  son  rose  and  cordially  welcomed  the 
schoolmaster,  turned  to  Lucy  with  a  kind  of  growl. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  49 

"Well,  young  lady,"  he  said;  "don't  you  think  you 
have  been  some  time  getting  to  see  your  father  and 
me?" 

"Now,  grandpa,"  answered  Lucy,  untying  her  hood  and 
drawing  close  to  his  side,  "you  must  be  very  glad  to  see 
me,  and  very  civil ;  for  I  have  taken  a  great  deal  of  pains 
to  come  and  see  you  to-night." 

"A  vast  deal  of  pains,  to  be  sure!  Here  it  is  eight 
o'clock,  and  you  were  to  have  been  here  by  seven." 

"But  I  had  to  read  a  French  lesson." 

"  A  French  lesson  ?  Ah,  well !  that  reminds  me.  But 
come  now,  child,  and  see  your  grandmother."  And,  with 
his  arm  over  Lucy's  shoulder,  he  drew  her  away  out  of  the 
room. 

In  a  cheerful  and  luxurious  apartment  above  stairs  they 
found  old  Mrs.  Fraser,  a  thin,  shadowy-looking  woman, 
sitting,  propped  with  cushions,  in  an  arm-chair  by  the  fire. 
She  turned  her  pale  face  towards  them  as  they  entered, 
and  greeted  Lucy  with  a  sweet  smile,  and  a  look  of  pleas- 
ure brightening  in  her  soft  eyes.  The  captain  took  the 
arm-chair  that  always  stood  beside  his  wife's;  Lucy  seated 
herself  upon  his  knee,  and  was  soon  busy  recounting,  for 
her  grandmother's  entertainment,  all  the  events  of  the  day. 
Mrs.  Robert  Fraser,  who  had  been  occupied  about  the 
room  in  arrangements  for  the  comfort  of  the  invalid, 
smoothed  her  hair,  laid  aside  her  large  linen  apron,  and 
hurried  out  to  welcome  the  schoolmaster,  ever  an  honored 
guest  in  rural  districts. 

"  Do  you  like  the  new  teacher,  Lucy  ?  "  asked  the  old 
lady. 

"O,  yes;  we  all  like  him,"  answered  her  grandchild, 
4 


50  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

rather  hastily ;  "  and  I  am  learning  very  fast.     You  can't 
think  how  hard  I  study,  grandma." 

"I  hope  you  do,  dear;  school  time  is  short  at  best. 
Dear  me !  it  seems  such  a  little  time  since  you  were  a  baby 
in  my  arms ;  and  now  you  are  as  old  as  your  aunt  Lydia 
was  when  she  was  married." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  get  married, grandma, just  because 
I  am  old  enough  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  who  would  be  simpleton  enough  to  take 
you,"  growled  her  grandfather. 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Lucy,  turning  round  and  stroking  his 
gray  mustache  with  her  pretty  hand;  "I  am  sure,  sir,  my 
chance  is  as  good  as  yours  was ;  and  yet  you  found  a  very 
intelligent  woman  who  was  willing  to  take  you.  And  she 
has  endured  her  lot  with  you  all  these  years  without  com- 
plaining." 

The  old  man's  voice  changed  as  he  replied,  "My  child, 
you  will  be  blessed  indeed  if  your  choice  shall  bring  you 
half  the  happiness  mine  has  given  me." 

Lucy  raised  the  thin,  wrinkled  hand  of  the  invalid  ten- 
derly to  her  lips,  and  silence  fell  for  a  few  minutes  on  the 
little  group.  Presently  the  captain  opened  a  drawer  in 
the  table  near  him,  and  took  out  a  small  package,  which  he 
put  into  Lucy's  hand.  With  eager  curiosity  she  removed 
the  wrapper,  when  there  appeared  a  pretty  jewel-case  of 
purple  morocco. 

"O,  grandpa!  what  is  it  —  something  for  me?" 

"Look  and  see,"  he  answered. 

Lucy  opened  the  case,  and  revealed,  reposing  on  its  satin 
cushion,  a  beautiful  comb  and  ear-rings  of  richly-wrought 
Etruscan  gold.  On  tire  inside  of  the  cover  of  the  casket 
were  engraved  the  words,  "  Lucy  to  Julie." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  51 

"Ah,  how  lovely!"  cried  Lucy.  "The  very  thing  I 
should  have  chosen  to  send  to  her,  only  I  never  should 
have  thought  of  it." 

Quickly  arraying  herself  in  the  ornaments,  she  ran  to 
the  glass  to  see  the  effect.  But,  after  a  very  brief  survey, 
she  said,  shaking  her  head  gravely,  — 

"  No ;  I  do  not  think  they  amount  to  much  in  my  red- 
brown  locks;  but  with  her  smooth,  black  hair,  they  will 
be  charming.  Pray,  how  are  we  ever  to  send  them, 
grandpa  ?  " 

"I  will  see  to  that.  What  you  have  to  do  is  to  brush 
up  your  French,  and  write  Mademoiselle  Julie  a  letter  to 
go  along  with  your  gift." 

Lucy  promised,  and  just  then  her  mother  came  in  to  say 
that  it  was  time  to  go.  Bidding  the  old  people  an  affec- 
tionate  good  night,  she  followed  to  the  sitting-room,  where 
Fanshaw  still  sat  talking  with  the  master  of  the  house. 
Both  gentlemen  looked  up  as  the  mother  and  daughter 
entered,  Squire  Fraser's  face  beaming  with  an  expression 
of  affectionate  pride,  while  Fanshaw's  calm  blue  eyes 
looked  involuntary  admiration.  Mrs.  Fraser  was  a  pretty, 
delicate  woman,  not  so  tall  or  so  striking  as  her  daughter, 
but  with  a  peculiarly  soft  and  gentle  grace.  As  for  Lucy, 
she  looked  unusually  lovely  this  evening.  There  was  a 
soft,  happy  fire  in  her  eyes,  and  a  color  like  a  damask  rose 
in  her  cheek  —  a  color  that  may  have  deepened  slightly  as 
her  glance  met  that  of  the  schoolmaster. 

They  walked  home  at  a  quick  pace.  They  had  gone 
some  distance  when  Fanshaw  perceived,  for  the  first  time, 
that  the  little  hand  which  lay  on  his  arm  was  uncovered. 
"  Why,  Lucy,  where  is  your  glove?"  he  exclaimed,  taking 
her  hand  in  his. 


52  H1LLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"I  could  not  find  it  when  we  came  out,  and  would  not 
stop  to  look  for  it." 

"  How  cold  it  is ! "  he  continued,  drawing  off  his  own 
glove  and  taking  the  numb  little  fingers  in  his  warm  ones. 
"  You  shall  wear  my  gloves  now." 

"  No ;  0,  no ! "  said  Lucy,  attempting  to  withdraw  her 
hand ;  "  I  can  wrap  it  in  my  shawl." 

"And  slip  on  this  icy  hill  for  your  pains.  You  shall  do 
no  such  thing;  you  shall  wear  this  glove." 

"  I  will  not,  Mr.  Fanshaw ;  indeed,  I  will  have  my  own 
way  sometimes,"  she  answered,  folding  her  arms  in  her 
shawl,  and  springing  a  few  steps  from  his  side. 

They  walked  a  few  yards  in  silence;  then  Fanshaw 
asked,  in  a  low  voice,  and  without  approaching  her,  "Lucy, 
will  you  come  back  and  take  this  glove,  and  my  arm?" 

"No,  Mr.  Fanshaw,"  in  a  tone  of  gay  defiance. 

"I  will  not  wear  it,  if  you  will  not." 

"  If  you  choose  to  freeze  your  fingers,  it  is  nothing  to 
me." 

"Lucy!" 

"Well,  Mr.  Fanshaw." 

"  Don't  you  wish  to  oblige  me  ?  " 

"I  wish  to  please  myself  more." 

Fanshaw  saw  that  it  was  of  no  use;  so,  crossing  to 
her  side,  without  further  preface  or  ceremony,  he  took  the 
hand  which  she  had  for  a  moment  withdrawn  from  her 
shawl,  put  on  the  glove,  then  drew  the  hand  through  his 
arm,  still  holding  it  firmly,  and  saying,  as  he  did  so,  "  Can 
you  really  refuse  me  such  a  trifle,  Lucy  ?  " 

Lucy  did  not  reply,  bnt  she  ceased  to  resist ;  indeed,  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  found  a  pleasure  in  yielding. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  53 

But  not  another  word  was  spoken  during  the  remainder 
of  their  walk. 

They  found  Hannah  sitting  by  the  fire,  where  they  had 
left  her;  but  "the  children"  were  gone  to  bed,  the  tables 
and  chairs  were  set  primly  back  against  the  wall,  and  her 
knitting-work  lay  folded  upon  her  lap. 

"  Laura  Perkins  and  Sarah  Smiley  have  been  here  since 
you  went  out,"  she  said,  addressing  Lucy. 

"  To  see  me  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  Dan  Wilcox  was  with  them,  and  they  want  you 
all  to  go  down  to  Zenas  Brown's  to-morrow  night  to  a  sur- 
prise party.  Some  of  the  girls  are  going  down  to  spend 
the  afternoon,  so  that  Statira  and  the  boys  may  be  sure  to 
be  at  home." 

"Of  course  I  shall  go.  Mr.  Fanshaw,  do  you  hear? 
Hannah  has  an  invitation  for  us  to  a  surprise  party." 

" '  Us '  ?    Does  the  invitation  include  me  ?  " 

"Certainly,"  said  Hannah.  "They  said  you  would  be 
expected,  of  course." 

"  In  that  case  I  shall  regard  the  plan  very  favorably.  It 
seems  to  meet  your  cordial  approbation,  Miss  Lucy,"  he 
said,  smiling  down  at  her,  where  she  sat  on  a  low  stool  by 
the  hearth,  her  shawl  and  furs  lying  in  a  little  heap  by  her 
side.  She  looked  up  shyly,  and  a  faint  blush  deepened  on 
her  cheek  as  her  eye  met  his.  He  had  lighted  his  bed- 
room candle,  and,  as  Lucy  made  no  reply,  he  remarked 
that  it  was  not  fair  to  keep  Miss  Page  up  any  longer,  and 
bade  the  cousins  good  night. 

When  he  was  gone,  Hannah  carefully  covered  the  fire, 
bolted  the  doors,  and  made  various  preparations  for  tho 
night,  while  Lucy,  drawing  out  her  comb,  let  fall  her  lovely 


54  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

hair  about  her  shoulders,  and  sat  idly  passing  her  fingers 
over  its  shining  length,  her  eyes  fixed  dreamily  on  the  dull 
glow  of  the  buried  coals.  She  seemed  quite  unmindful  of 
the  lateness  of  the  hour,  till  Hannah  lighted  her  candle, 
and,  laying  a  hand  gently  on  her  head,  said,  — 

"  Come,  dear ;  it  is  very  late." 

Lucy  picked  up  her  things,  kissed  her  cousin,  and  went 
thoughtfully  up  stairs  to  the  room  where  Lydia  lay  asleep. 
As  she  was  folding  her  shawl  to  put  it  away,  Fanshaw's 
glove  fell  out  of  its  folds  upon  the  floor.  She  stooped 
quickly  to  pick  it  up,  while  a  bright  color  flushed  her 
cheek.  She  held  the  glove  irresolutely  for  a  moment ;  then, 
glancing  at  the  bed  where  her  cousin  lay,  she  cautiously 
opened  a  drawer  of  the  bureau,  laid  the  glove  carefully  in, 
and,  turning  the  key,  drew  it  from  the  lock,  and  put  it  in 
her  pocket.  She  then  quickly  made  her  preparations  for 
bed,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  fast  asleep  beside  the  un- 
conscious Lydia. 


HILLSBOKO'    FARMS.      -  55 


CHAPTER  V. 

IT  cannot  be  denied  that  on  the  next  day,  the  older  of 
Fanshaw's  scholars  —  those,  so  to  speak,  who  had  made 
their  entrance  into  society  —  were  more  occupied  with  the 
party  in  prospect  than  with  grammars  and  blackboard  ex- 
ercises. Large  gatherings,  such  as  this  promised  to  be,  are 
not  very  frequent  in  country  districts,  and  create  a  corre- 
sponding excitement  when  they  do  occur.  The  hours  of 
school  dragged  somewhat  wearily,  and  many  pairs  of  wist- 
ful eyes  followed  the  sun  in  its  slow  transit  over  the  hacked 
and  worm-eaten  benches,  till  it  faded,  flickered,  and  finally 
vanished  behind  the  near  summits  of  Edgehill.  But  at 
length  the  signal  was  given,  and  the  seats  cleared  as.if  by 
magic,  leaving  Fanshaw  sitting  alone  in  the  wide,  still  room 
so  lately  filled  with  the  eager,  repressed  life  of  childhood 
and  youth.  He  closed  his  desk,  locked  the  door,  and  walked 
musingly  home  in  the  quick-falling  winter  twilight,  hum- 
ming to  himself  an  old  tune,  and  thinking  of  a  great  many 
things,  but,  most  of  all,  of  charming  Lucy  Fraser.  Not 
sentimentally,  nor  very  ardently,  but  kindly,  and  a  little 
softly.  The  kind  of  life  he  was  leading  was  making  it 
dangerously  easy  for  the  young  man  to  substitute,  insensi- 
bly, a  tender  regard  for  the  friendly  interest  he  had  from 
the  first  felt  in  his  lovely  pupil.  He  was,  to  an  extent, 
idle  and  unoccupied ;  and  idleness  and  propinquity  are 


56  HILLSHORO'    FARMS. 

the  secret  of  half  the  love  affairs  in  this  world.  She  was 
beautiful,  and  he  was  impressible  ;  and  at  this  time,  a  day, 
a  week,  or  an  hour  might  turn  the  wavering  balance,  and 
decide  the  future  for  both. 

An  hour  later  Fanshaw  came  into  the  sitting-room,  and 
found  Lucy  ready  dressed  for  the  evening.  She  wore  a 
dress  of  dark-blue  merino,  of  the  shade  favored  by  the 
Empress  Maria  Louisa.  A  frill  of  narrow  lace  edged  the 
neck,  closing  low  at  the  throat  with  a  small  bi*ooch.  A 
gold  chain  was  wound  several  times  around  her  neck,  and 
from  it  depended  a  rich  cross  of  the  same  material  —  a  gift 
from  her  grandfather,  and  a  favorite  ornament.  Her  hair, 
drawn  smoothly  back,  leaving  uncovered  the  delicate  tem- 
ples and  small  ears,  was  gathered  into  a  graceful  mass 
of  braids  and  curls  at  the  back  of  the  head.  She  looked 
very  lovely,  Fanshaw  thought,  as  he  carefully  folded  her 
gay  Scotch  plaid  about  her  shoulders,  while  Hannah  held 
ready  a  large,  old-fashioned  cape  and  little  muff  of  glossy 
gray  fur,  which  had  belonged  to  Mrs.  Page,  and  had  been 
brought  home,  on  some  long-ago  voyage,  by  the  captain, 
from  St.  Petersburg. 

The  night  was  clear  and  starry,  much  milder  than  the 
preceding,  and  their  horse  strong  and  fleet.  They  were 
alone,  Heman  and  Lydia  having  gone  forward  half  an  hour 
before.  Their  road  lay  for  a  mile  down  the  eastern  slope 
of  the  hill,  then,  turning  south,  wound  through  the  valley, 
where  the  silence  was  broken  into  numberless  echoes  by 
the  clear  ringing  sleigh-bells.  In  summer  a  pretty  brook 
wound,  with  many  a  coquettish  whirl  and  eddy,  through 
this  valley,  crossing  and  recrossing  the  highway  at  fre- 
quent intervals.  Now  thick  snow  and  ice  lay  over  it,  and 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  57 

the  little  wooden  bridges  gave  hollow  responses  to  the 
horse's  hoofs. v  Here  had  Lucy,  from  her  childhood,  gath- 
ered the  earliest  spring  flowers ;  here,  in  sheltered  nooks, 
before  the  snows  were  gone,  bloomed  the  Mayflower,  best 
beloved  of  all  New  England  children  ;  here  flamed,  in 
sultry  August  days,  the  tall  scarlet  cardinals,  and,  when 
the  autumn  came,  the  fiery  golden-rod  and  bright  purple 
asters  glowed  along  the  brook-side.  Emerging  into  more 
open  country,  they  passed  frequent  farm-houses,  whose 
lights  shone  out  cheerfully  over  the  snowy  fields;  and  now 
and  then  a  furious  cur  from  some  cottage  doorstep  darted 
out,  and  pursued  them  with  far-resounding  bark. 

At  length  they  approached  the  scene  of  the  evening's 
festivities.  It  was  a  large,  yellow  farm-house,  with  an 
old-fashioned,  gambrel  roof,  and  four  tall,  gaunt  Lombardy 
poplars  standing,  like  grim  sentinels,  in  front.  Lights 
gleamed  from  numerous  windows,  and  the  collection  of 
sleighs  in  the  back  yard  proved  that  the  invitations  to  the 
party  had  not  been  slighted. 

Lucy  and  Fanshaw  were  met  at  the  door  by  Laura  Per- 
kins and  Statira  Brown.  Lucy  followed  the  latter  up 
stairs,  leaving  Fanshaw  to  be  presented  to  the  company 
.by  Laura ;  for,  in  gatherings  of  this  description,  the  self- 
constituted  committee  of  arrangements  act,  in  a  great 
measure,  the  part  of  hosts.  Laura  conducted  the  stranger 
to  the  sitting-room,  where  were  assembled  the  older  mem- 
bers of  the  family,  she  taking  it  for  granted  that  the  school- 
master would  prefer  the  society  of  the  graver  persons 
present. 

Zenns  Brown  —  a  red-faced,  good-natured  looking  man 
—  rose,  as  they  entered,  to  welcome  his  guest  and  intro- 


58  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

duce  him  to  the  group  round  the  fireplace.  On  one  side 
the  chimney  was  old  Mrs.  Brown,  the  farmer's  mother,  a 
little,  withered  woman,  wrinkled  and  dry,  and  beside  her 
her  daughter  Sally,  a  spinster,  apparently  but  few  years 
less  ancient,  who,  bolt  upright  in  her  chair,  sat  knitting, 
with  a  grimness  and  industry  which  seemed,  as  plain  as 
words,  to  say,  "  I  was  never  young  and  gay,  and,  in  my 
opinion,  it  is  the  height  of  folly  for  those  who  are  to  enjoy 
themselves."  One  or  two  quiet,  middle-aged  neighbors, 
and  the  farmer's  wife,  were  also  of  the  group. 

The  last  of  the  circle  "introduced"  was  a  young  man 
of  about  eight  and  twenty.  He  sat  with  his  elbow  resting 
on  his  knee,  and  in  his  hand  the  long  iron  poker,  with 
which  he  had  been  emphasizing  a  recent  remark  on  the 
blazing  forestick.  He  wore  a  suit  of  snuff-colored  cloth, 
which  told  a  plain  story  of  the  itinerant  tailoress  who, 
with  goose  and  shears,  circulates  annually  through  country 
neighborhoods.  His  hands  were  large  and  red,  and  his 
hair  had  also  a  glowing  hue.  His  sharp  features  and 
small  gray  eyes  expressed  some  intelligence  and  more 
conceit.  This  person  was  no  other  than  Sam  Warren,  of 
whom  mention  has  been  made  as  a  rejected  applicant  for 
the  school  in  which  Fanshaw  was  engaged.  The  host,  as 
he  mentioned  their  names,  made  some  remark,  intended  to 
be  facetious,  to  the  effect  that  he  "had  heard  it  said  that 
two  of  a  trade  could  never  agree." 

"  I  am  sure,  Mr.  Brown,"  returned  Fanshaw,  with  great 
suavity,  "  that  we  shall  prove  honorable  exceptions  to  that 
rule." 

Never  having  heard  of  Sam  Warren,  and  knowing  no 
reason  why  they  should  disagree,  nor  suspecting  that  the 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  59 

immense  dignity  assumed  by  his  new  acquaintance  was 
intended  for  his  benefit,  Fanshaw  offered  his  hand  with  an 
air  at  once  pleasant  and  cordial.  It  was  accepted  with  a 
lofty  condescension,  at  which  he  could  with  difficulty  re- 
press a  smile.  So  petty  and  trivial  was  Sam's  nature,  so 
active  the  feeling  of  small  envy  and  spite  with  which  he 
regarded  the  man  who  had  succeeded  where  he  had  failed, 
that  Fanshaw's  smiling  demeanor  seemed  to  him  the  inso- 
lent assurance  of  success,  and  he  hated  him  accordingly, 
his  dislike  manifesting  itself  for  the  present  in  scornful 
silence. 

After  the  weather  and  the  state  of  the  roads  had  been 
fully  discussed,  old  Mrs.  Brown,  who  had  been  attentively 
studying  the  schoolmaster  over  her  spectacles,  said,  — 

"  They  say  you  come  from  Colchester  way.  Was  your 
father  John  Fanshaw  ?  " 

"  He  was.     Did  you  know  him  ?  " 

"No;  I  never  see  him  but  once  —  at  the  time  he  was 
married.  So  you  are  John's  son.  Then  your  mother  must 
have  been  a  Brandon." 

"  My  mother  was  Amelia  Brandon  :  you  knew  her,  per- 
haps." 

"  Wai,  not  a  great  deal.  She  was  a  long  time  after  my 
day.  But  I  always  lived  neighbor  to  her  folks  till  I  was 
married.  I  remember  your  grandfather  well,  and  you 
look  a  wonderful  sight  like  him.  I  remember,  too,  when 
your  mother  was  married.  I  was  home  then  on  a  visit, 
and  it  must  ha'  been  nigh  upon  thirty  year  ago.  She  was 
called  the  handsomest  bride  that  ever  went  out  of  West- 
field." 

"  My  mother  is  still  a  handsome  woman." 


60  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"The  Brandons  was  all  good-lookin'.  Wai  I  mind 
how  they  used  to  look  of  a  Sunday  —  five  tall,  handsome 
sons  following  their  mother.  She  was  a  widow  years  and 
years.  Ralph  —  that  was  your  grandfather  —  he  married 
a  Foster,  and  lived  on  the  old  place.  Who  has  it  now?" 

"  It  has  shared  the  fate  of  many  old  homesteads :  it  is 
in  the  hands  of  strangers.  My  uncle  was  obliged  to  sell, 
and  he  offered  it  in  turn  to  every  member  of  the  family. 
Some,  like  my  mother,  could  not  afford  to  buy  it,  and  those 
who  could  found  it  too  remote  to  be  a  desirable  home ;  so 
the  dear  old  acres  went  out  of  the  family." 

"Wai,"  returned  Mrs.  Brown,  after  a  short  pause, 
"  there's  some  folks  don't  seem  to  care  a  button  for  the 
place  where  they've  lived  all  their  lives.  Here's  my  son, 
Zenas,  now ;  he  gets  a  fancy  every  now  and  then  to  go  out 
West.  I  tell  him  to  go,  if  he  wants  to;  but  he  will  never 
get  me  and  Sally  to  go  writh  him.  I  have  lived  here  goin' 
on  sixty  year.  I  have  buried  my  husband  and  five  chil- 
dren from  this  house :  and  here  I  mean  to  end  my  days." 

"  Miss  Brown,"  began  Sam  Warren,  breaking  silence  for 
the  first  time,  turning  in  his  chair,  and  crossing  one  leg  over 
the  other,  —  "Miss  Brown,  what  you  say  is  very  natural, 
you  being  a  woman  and  advanced  in  years ;  but  for  a 
young  man  who  means  to  make  a  figure  in  the  world,  this 
staying  right  by  the  old  place  is  no  way  to  do  it.  Be- 
sides, it  fosters  aristocracy  and  family  pride.  The  more  I 
see  of  the  world,  the  more  I  am  convinced  that  the  aris- 
tocracy of  this  country  has  got  to  give  way  before  the 
march  of  intellect  among  the  common  people  they  have 
despised  so  long." 

This   remark   was   so   palpably   levelled    at    Fanshaw, 


JIILLSBORO'    FARMS.  61 

that  the  latter,  though  scarcely  able  to  repress  a  smile, 
replied,  — 

"I  was  not  aware  that  AVC  had  in  this  country  any  class 
so  privileged  as  to  be  objectionable  as  an  aristocracy.  A 
few  families  there  may  be,  who,  with  a  slight  show  of  jus- 
tice, pride  themselves  on  their  descent ;  and  for  the  rest, 
a  dozen  years  of  wealth  make  an  aristocrat  nowadays  — 
a  very  harmless  and  inoffensive  kind  of  aristocracy,  and 
one  that  must  be  very  comfortable,  too." 

"  I  can't  say  I  think  any  aristocracy  harmless,"  retorted 
Sam,  with  some  asperity.  "I  believe  in  all  men  being 
equal ;  and  no  man  has  a  right  to  look  down  on  another. 
And  I  foresee,"  he  continued,  with  an  oratorical  wave  of 
his  hand,  "  if  the  common  people  don't  make  an  effort  to 
vindicate  their  equality,  they  will  be  trodden  under  foot 
by  an  idle  and  haughty  aristocracy,  equal  in  tyranny  to 
any  in  the  old  world." 

Fanshaw  suspected  that  Sara  had  got  started  on  a  fa- 
vorite topic ;  and,  not  wishing  to  be  subjected  to  an  ora- 
tion, he  drew  a  little  girl  who  was  playing  about  the  room 
to  his  side,  and  began  talking  with  her.  But  his  intended 
diversion  failed  of  its  end.  Sam  was  fairly  launched  upon 
a  theme  with  which  he  was  accustomed  to  hold  admiring 
audiences,  and  it  was  impossible  to  stop  him  so  long  as  a 
listener  remained. 

Meantime  the  spacious  kitchen  presented  a  much  more 
animated  spectacle.  The  room  was  filled  with  youthful 
figures,  and  the  din  of  gay  voices  rivalled  the  ancient  con- 
fusion of  Babel.  Later  there  was  to  be  dancing;  but  Mike 
Hennessey,  the  Irish  fiddler,  would  not  arrive  till  after  eight, 
and  something  must  be  done  in  the  interval.  A  game  of 


62  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

blind-man's-buff  had  been  proposed,  and  Statira  Brown 
had  produced  a  crimson  silk  handkerchief;  but  eyes  to  be 
blindfolded  were  less  easily  found. 

"  You  may  tie  it  on  my  eyes  if  you'll  promise  me  one 
thinsr,"  called  out  Ben  Miller  from  a  corner. 

O' 

"  I  promise  whatever  you  please,  Ben.  Come  here  and 
have  it  on." 

"  You  must  hear  what  I  want  first." 

"  Well,  let  us  know." 

"  I  want  it  fairly  understood  that  I  may  kiss  the  first 
girl  I  catch,"  answered  Ben,  with  a  smile  that  showed  his 
white  teeth. 

"We  promise !  we  promise ! "  laughed  a  dozen  gay  voices. 
"  He  is  welcome  to  kiss  us  if  he  can  catch  us." 

Ben  came  forward,  and,  shutting  his  bright  eyes,  sub- 
mitted them  to  the  handkerchief.  He  was  in  high  spirits, 
for,  though  Lucy  had  declined  his  escort  to  the  party,  and 
had  appeared  attended  by  Fanshaw, — whom  Ben  regarded 
with  some  fear  as  a  possible  rival,  —  still,  since  their  appear- 
ance the  latter  had  not  once  sought  her  side,  and  Ben  him- 
self had  secured  the  promise  of  her  hand  for  the  first  dance. 
This  world  had  seemed  a  rather  dismal  place  to  Ben  that 
evening  as  he  drove  his  young  sister  Fanny  to  Mr.  Brown's. 
But  Lucy  had  come,  and  smiled,  and  given  him  her  soft 
little  hand,  and  said  she  was  glad  to  see  him,  and  at  once 
a  warm  glow  diffused  itself  over  everything.  He  became 
reconciled  to  the  world  and  all  mankind,  including  the 
schoolmaster,  and  assured  himself,  for  the  hundredth  time, 
that  it  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  life  for  Fanshaw  to 
be  attentive  to  Lucy,  living  in  the  same  house  with  her, 
and  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  make  himself  mis- 
erable on  that  account. 


HILLSBORO'   FARMS.  63 

Now,  indeed,  the  fun  grew  fast  and  furious.  Ben  was 
light  of  foot,  and,  blinded  as  he  was,  they  found  it  difficult 
to  elude  his  nimble  pursuit.  There  appeared  to  be  some 
witchery  in  the  game,  however,  for,  though  he  seemed 
constantly  on  the  point  of  success,  he  as  constantly  failed. 
It  is  possible  that,  if  one  had  watched  him  narrowly,  there 
might  have  been  detected  a  method  in  his  failure.  Lucy 
all  the  time  had  flitted  round  the  outside  of  the  room, 
carefully  avoiding  the  inner  circle  of  more  eager  players, 
her  gay  laugh  mingling  occasionally  with  the  general  con- 
fusion. She  had  just  made  up  her  mind  to  slip  off  and  join 
some  of  the  older  girls  in  the  parlor,  when  a  door  against 
which  she  was  leaning  opened.  It  created  a  little  stir 
among  those  near,  forcing  Lucy  into  the  middle  of  the 
room.  For  a  moment  she  forgot  the  game,  and  at  that 
moment  Ben  approached  her  with  outstretched  hands.  She 
saw  her  danger,  and  attempted  to  escape  by  passing  under 
his  arms ;  but,  with  a  quickness  which  argued  little  for  the 
efficiency  of  the  blindfolding,  Ben  caught  her  with  his  left 
arm  as  she  was  passing  under  his  right.  "Ah!  Lucy 
Fraser,  I  have  you ! "  he  exclaimed,  drawing  his  arm  more 
firmly  around  her  waist,  while  with  his  disengaged  hand 
he  tried  to  untie  the  handkerchief. 

Alas  for  poor  Ben !  While  he  labored  to  undo  the  knot 
Statira  had  so  carefully  tied,  Lucy  remained  for  a  second 
so  quiet  that  he  unconsciously  loosened  his  hold  slightly, 
when,  quick  as  thought,  she  darted  from  his  restraining 
arm,  and  was  away  across  the  room,  sheltering  herself  be- 
hind the  brawny  figure  of  Ed  Brown. 

Though  rather  crestfallen,  Ben  received  the  raillery  of  his 
companions  with  great  good-nature.  lie  laughed  with 


64  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

the  rest,  as  he  threw  down  the  handkerchief,  exclaiming, 
"  Come,  Lucy,  if  I  lost  a  first-rate  chance,  I  certainly 
caught  you ;  and  you  must  have  your  eyes  blinded  now." 

Lucy  declared  her  readiness  to  take  her  turn  at  the  game. 
Her  pursuit  was  a  little  more  timid  than  Ben's  had  been, 
though  not  at  all  wanting  in  spirit.  She  was  not  very  suc- 
cessful, and  her  cheeks  were  growing  quite  red  in  the 
excitement,  when  Fanshaw  and  Mrs.  Brown  came  in  from 
the  entry.  At  one  side  of  the  kitchen  was  a  door  leading 
to  a  store-room  adjoining.  The  floor  of  the  store-room 
was  considerably  below  the  level  of  the  kitchen,  and  the 
two  rooms  were  connected  by  a  steep,  though  short,  flight 
of  steps.  The  door,  which  swung  out  from  the  kitchen, 
had  stood  ajar  all  the  evening.  Lucy  was  beginning  to 
grow  a  little  tired,  and  to  wish  the  game  ended,  when  one 
of  the  girls,  coming  in  front  of  her,  teasingly  caught  for  a 
second  her  extended  hands,  then,  dropping  them,  sprang 
lightly  to  one  side.  Lucy  darted  confidently  forward,  her 
hands  touched  the  door  of  the  store-room,  there  was  a 
startled  exclamation  from  Statira  and  her  mother,  echoed 
by  a  sharp  cry  and  a  fall,  and  Lucy  disappeared  from 
sight. 

There  was  an  instant's  pause  before  the  company  real- 
ized what  had  happened ;  but  in  that  instant  Fanshaw, 
whose  eyes  had  been  on  Lucy  at  the  moment,  darted  for- 
ward, and,  before  Mrs.  Brown  or  her  daughter  reached  the 
spot,  he  was  kneeling  by  her  side,  supporting  her  almost 
senseless  form  in  his  arms.  Half  stunned,  blind,  and  be- 
wildered, she  lay  motionless,  her  head  resting  on  Fan- 
shaw's  breast,  while  Statira,  with  trembling  fingers,  sought 
to  remove  the  handkerchief  from  her  eyes.  Her  young 


IIILLSBORO'    FARMS.  65 

companions  crowded  round,  some  offering  assistance  and 
others  in  mute  dismay.  Ben  Miller,  with  a  face  as  white 
as  Lucy's,  brought  water,  in  which  Statira  clipped  her  fin- 
gers and  bathed  the  poor  girl's  forehead  and  temples. 
Lucy  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  round  with  a  surprised, 
uncertain  air,  not  fairly  conscious  of  what  had  happened. 
Encountering  the  anxious  gaze  of  Fanshaw,  recollection 
seemed  to  dawn  slowly  upon  her  mind,  for  a  faint  color 
stole  back  to  her  cheeks,  and,  closing  her  eyes,  she  turned 
her  head  slightly  away. 

"Lucy,  are  you  hurt?"  he  asked,  in  a  tone  of  tender 
solicitude  that  made  Ben  Miller  shut  his  teeth  very  hard. 

Pushing  back  the  damp  hair  from  her  forehead,  Lucy 
attempted  to  rise  from  her  recumbent  posture.  "  ISTo,"  she 
said,  "I  believe  I  am  not  hurt  —  only  frightened.  Did  I 
fall?" 

"Yes,  you  slipped  right  off  the  stairs,"  answered  Statira, 
"  and  frightened  us  half  to  death.  We  thought  you  must 
be  killed.  Are  you  sure  it  didn't  hurt  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  not  hurt,"  repeated  Lucy,  rising,  with  Fan- 
shaw's  assistance,  a  little  unsteadily,  to  her  feet.  "  I  will 
go  up  to  the  parlor,  if  you  please,  and  sit  down." 

"  Let  me  carry  you,"  exclaimed  Fanshaw  and  Ben  Miller, 
in  a  breath. 

"  No,  indeed  !     O,  no.     I  can  walk." 

"  You  had  better  let  one  of  'em  carry  you,  dear ;  you 
may  be  a  little  light-headed  when  you  come  to  walk,"  sug- 
gested Mrs.  Brown,  anxiously. 

"  You  had  better  not  attempt  walking,  Lucy,"  urged 
Fanshaw. 

"Then  Ed  Brown  shall  carry  me.  Won't  you,  Ed?" 
5 


66  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

she  declared,  with  a  sudden  return  to  wilfulness,  which 
went  to  show  that  she  was  not  very  seriously  injured. 

Ed  Brown  came  forward  smiling,  secretly  pleased  at 
the  little  beauty's  preference.  He  took  her  in  his  strong 
arms  as  lightly  as  if  she  had  been  a  child ;  and  she,  shut- 
ting her  eyes,  drooped  her  head  languidly  on  his  big 
shoulder,  while  he  carried  her  up  the  stairs  to  the  parlor, 
and  laid  her  gently  on  the  sofa  they  had  prepared  for  her. 
Fanshaw  and  Ben  Miller  both  followed,  the  former  amused 
at  the  way  in  which  Lucy  had  avoided  giving  preference 
to  either  of  them,  and  Ben  gratified  that,  since  he  had  not 
been  allowed  to  be  of  service,  the  schoolmaster  was  no 
more  fortunate  than  himself. 

After  so  inopportune  a  check,  the  tide  of  enjoyment  did 
not  at  once  resume  its  flow ;  and  the  accident  might  have 
proved  a  serious  damper  to  the  gayety  of  the  evening,  had 
not  Mike  Hennessey  happily  arrived  at  this  juncture.  At 
the  first  note  of  his  violin  sounding  through  the  rooms, 
Lucy  raised  her  head  and  looked  round.  Most  of  the  com- 
pany had  returned  to  the  kitchen.  Ben  Miller  was  sitting 
near  the  front  of  her  sofa,  idly  turning  over  a  book.  Sta- 
tira  and  another  young  girl  stood  by  the  fire,  talking  with 
Fanshaw.  At  the  sound  of  the  music  Statira  came  to  the 
sofa. 

"  Well,  Lucy,"  she  said,  "  what  do  you  think  about 
dpncing  ?  " 

"I  shan't  try  just  yet.  Perhaps  in  an  hour  I  may  feel 
more  like  it.  But,  dear  Statira,  I  cannot  consent  to  your 
staying  with  me.  Mr.  Fanshaw,  don't  you  dance  ?  " 

"I  used  to,  and,  if  Miss  Brown  is  willing  to  be  my 
partner,  think  perhaps  I  could  again. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  67 

He  soon  after  left  the  room  with  the  two  girls,  and  Ben 
Miller  alone  now  remained.  Ben  came  up  to  Lucy's  side. 

"  You  must  go,  too,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  You  have  lost 
your  first  partner ;  but  you  will  not  mind  that,  I  dare  say." 

"  I  thought,  at  one  time,  I  had  lost  more  than  a  dance. 
O,  Lucy ! "  he  began,  in  a  husky  voice,  bending  towards 
her,  and  taking  her  hand. 

"  Don't,  Ben,  don't ! "  she  interrupted,  quickly  withdraw- 
ing it.  "  There,  go  and  find  another  partner ;  and,  if  you 
are  good,  perhaps  I  will  dance  with  you  by  and  by." 

Ben  would  have  demurred  at  so  summary  a  dismissal ; 
but  Mrs.  Brown  came  in  to  mend  the  fire  and  see  that 
Lucy  wanted  for  nothing ;  so  his  opportunity  was  lost. 

Left  to  herself,  Lucy  lay  a  long  time  with  closed  eyes, 
the  strains  of  Mike's  violin  and  the  measured  steps  of  the 
dancers  beating  unheeded  in  her  ears.  Though  not  sleep- 
ing, she  was  but  vaguely  conscious  of  what  was  passing 
around  her.  Indeed,  since  her  accident,  since  the  moment 
when  she  opened  her  eyes  to  meet  the  tender  gaze  of  Fan- 
shaw  fixed  upon  her,  and  felt  herself  supported  in  his 
arms,  everything  in  her  mind  had  been  dim  and  misty. 
In  the  confusion  of  images  and  impressions  that  floated 
through  her  brain,  she  saw  and  felt  nothing  distinctly  ;  but 
she  lay  in  a  state  of  dreamy  and  delicious  languor,  con- 
scious only  of  a  pervading  sense  of  tranquil  but  ineffable 
happiness,  the  source  of  which  she  never  sought  to  find. 
The  time  passed  quite  unremarked.  The  members  of  the 
family,  Heman  and  Lydia,  came  now  and  then  to  look 
at  her,  and  went  away  unnoticed.  Ben  Miller  looked  in, 
thought  her  sleeping,  and  went  softly  out.  After  a  time, 
Fanshaw,  who  had  been  dancing  with  great  spirit  and 


68  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

energy,  came  to  the  side  of  her  sofa,  and  stood  looking 
down  at  her  still  face.  Its  exquisite  loveliness  had  never 
so  struck  him  before.  He  had  always  thought  her  beauti- 
ful ;  but  to-night  there  was  an  added  charm  —  something 
about  the  lips  and  on  the  fair  brow  which  he  was  unable 
to  read  or  define.  It  puzzled  him ;  and  he  fell  into  a 
thoughtful  study  of  the  face  before  him.  While  he  gazed, 
Lucy  opened  her  eyes,  and  looked  up. 

"  Can  you  forgive  me  for  waking  you  ? "  he  said.  "  I 
think  I  must  have  disturbed  a  beautiful  dream." 

"  I  was  not  dreaming.     What  made  you  think  so  ?" 

"You  had  a  look  which  seemed  to  belong  to  dreams. 
But  are  you  quite  recovered,  Lucy  ?  "  he  added,  taking  her 
hand,  which  drooped  idly  beside  the  sofa.  "  Poor  child  ! 
your  hand  trembles  like  a  leaf.  I  fear  you  are  suffering 
more  than  you  will  admit." 

"  Indeed,  no,  Mr.  Fanshaw ;  I  am  very  well  now ;  and, 
if  my  hand  trembles,  it  is  only  from  the  fright." 

"  I  must  try  and  believe  you  ;  but  I  trust,  Lucy,  you  will 
never  give  us  ten  minutes  of  such  cruel  anxiety  again." 

Lucy  looked  away  for  a  minute,  and  then  said,  while  a 
faint  little  smile  flickered  round  the  corners  of  her  lips, 
"  Are  you  sure  you  suffered  so  very  deeply  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  convince  you  ?  " 

"I  don't  care  to  be  convinced." 

"  Lucy,  I  think  you  are  recovering." 

She  laughed  softly.  There  was  a  little  pause,  and  then 
he  asked,  — 

"  Shall  I  take  you  home  to  Hannah  now  ?  I  think  her 
care  will  be  better  for  you  than  anything  else  to-night." 

"  Yes,  I  am  willing  to  go,  and  soon,  if  you  please." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  69 

"  We  will  go  at  once ;  and  I  will  find  Mrs.  Brown,  and 
tell  her  of  your  wishes." 

Mrs.  Brown  warmly  protested  against  Lucy's  leaving. 
Ed  should  take  her  up  in  the  morning;  and  it  was  much 
better  for  her  to  stay  all  night.  Lucy  mildly  persisted  ;  so 
her  wraps  were  brought,  and  the  horse  led  to  the  door. 
In  the  entry  she  found  Heman  and  Ben  Miller. 

"  Don't  stay  late,  Heman,"  she  said.  "  Good  night,  Ben," 
giving  him  her  hand.  "  Remember,  my  promise  holds 
good  for  another  time.  I  am  sorry  not  to  keep  it  to- 
night." 

Fanshaw  and  Ed  Brown  wrapped  the  furs  warmly  around 
her ;  the  former  took  his  seat  by  her  side,  and,  with  a  com- 
prehensive "good  night,"  they  drove  away.  The  clear, 
cold  air  somewhat  revived  Lucy;  still,  their  homeward 
drive  was  rather  silent.  The  surprise  party  might  seem  to 
have  proved  a  failure  to  her;  but  she  did  not  regard  it  so. 
On  the  contrary,  her  sense  of  quiet  enjoyment,  as  they 
drove  along,  exchanging  only  now  and  then  a  few  low 
words,  was  keen  and  full.  She  exacted  a  promise  from 
Fanshaw  that  he  would  not  mention  her  accident  to  Han- 
nah that  night,  as  it  would  only  make  her  needlessly 
anxious. 


70  HILLSBOKO'   FARMS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ON  reaching  home  they  found  that  a  visitor  had  arrived 
in  their  absence.  As  they  entered  the  sitting-room,  a  young 
lady  rose  from  beside  the  fire,  where  she  sat  talking  with 
Hannah,  and  turned  towards  the  door.  With  an  eager  cry 
of  pleasure,  Lucy  sprang  forward. 

"  Mary !  dear  Mary  Elliot ! "  she  exclaimed,  warmly  em- 
bracing the  stranger. 

There  was  a  confusion  of  welcomes  and  explanations, 
eager  questions  and  only  half  answers,  during  which  Fan- 
shaw  was  entirely  forgotten.  Naturally  he  occupied  the 
time  with  observing  the  new-comer,  of  whom  he  had  heard 
so  much.  He  saw  a  small,  slight  girl,  with  a  manner  which 
struck  him  even  then  as  being  remarkably  high  bred.  She 
was  at  least  five  years  older  than  Lucy,  and  that  young 
lady's  whole  lifetime  older  in  experience  and  knowledge 
of  the  world.  Her  face  was  not  strictly  handsome ;  but, 
with  its  delicate,  clear-cut  features,  brilliant  dark  eyes,  and 
pale  olive  complexion,  showing  no  trace  of  red  except  in 
the  lips,  it  was  certainly  an  attractive  one.  It  was  a  face 
to  which  the  smile  came  quick  and  sparkling,  and  yet  one 
on  which  it  was  impossible  to  look  without  seeing  that  its 
owner  had  known  grave  and  serious  cares ;  and  the  charm- 
ing sweetness  of  her  smile  could  not  wholly  veil  a  certain 
half-defiant  pride  which  flashed  at  times  through  every 


HILLSBOLiO'    FARMS.  71 

speaking  feature.  For  there  was  in  this  girl,  behind  the 
acquired  patience  which  she  had  won  out  of  the  conflict 
of  life,  a  certain  fiery  and  vehement  discontent  —  an  un- 
uttered,  yet  never  silenced,  protest  against  the  adverse 
circumstances  which  walled  her  in. 

After  a  time  Hannah  found  an  opportunity  to  introduce 
Fanshaw  to  Miss  Elliot.  She  met  him  with  a  frank  and 
graceful  greeting,  alluded,  with  a  smile,  to  his  successorship 
to  her  own  old  field  of  labor,  and  then  turned  again  to 
Lucy,  as  if  he  had  passed  quite  out  of  her  mind. 

"  Yes,  Lucy,  I  had  nearly  convinced  myself  that  this 
visit  to  Hillsboro'  must  be  given  up,  when  Miles  came  home 
to  stay  a  few  weeks,  and  so  obviated  the  difficulty  about 
leaving  our  mother  alone.  Then  last  night  Mr.  Spencer 
came  in,  and  insisted  that  he  should  regard  it  as  a  favor 
to  be  allowed  to  go  several  miles  out  of  his  way,  on  a  cold 
winter  evening,  to  bring  me  here ;  and,  as  I  wished  very 
much  to  think  he  spoke  the  truth,  I  believed  him,  and  here 
I  am.  And  now,  had  you  a  nice  party  ?  and  were  there 
numbers  of  young  people  there  whom  I  know  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mary,  it  was  a  pleasant  party.  All  the  girls  were 
there;  and  we  left  Ileman  and  Lydia  dancing  as  if  their 
lives  depended  on  it." 

"  Now  I  look  at  you,  Lucy,  I  think  you  must  have  danced 
yourself  tired.  You  look  positively  pale.  Is  it  so,  Mr. 
Fanshaw?  Has  she  danced  every  set  for  the  evening?" 

"On  the  contrary,  I  think  she  has  not  danced  at  all." 

"  Not  danced  at  all !  "  exclaimed  Hannah.  "  Are  you 
sick,  Lucy?" 

"  O,  no.  I  was  rather  tired  when  I  went  away ;  and  my 
head  aches  a  little." 


72  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

u  You  do  look  pale,  as  Mary  says.  I  think  you  had  bet- 
ter go  right  to  bed.  Mary  is  going  to  stay  a  good  while, 
and  you  will  have  plenty  of  time  for  long  talks,  if  you 
don't  sit  up  for  one  to-night." 

Mary  began  to  gather  up  her  things,  and  presently 
moved  with  Hannah  to  the  other  side  of  the  room.  Lucy 
remained  sitting  by  the  fire,  her  head  resting  a  little  lan- 
guidly upon  her  hand.  Fanshaw  lighted  his  candle,  and, 
bending  over  her  chair,  asked,  in  a  low  voice, — 

"  Are  you  really  doing  quite  right  in  not  telling  Hannah 
of  your  fall?  I  fear  you  are  suffering  now." 

"  O,  no :  my  head  aches  a  little,  but  it  will  be  better  in 
the  morning;  and  there  is  no  need  to  frighten  her." 

"  As  you  please ;  but  I  shall  be  very  anxious.  Good 
night." 

His  fingers  touched  hers  lightly  for  a  moment;  and, 
bidding  Hannah  and  Miss  Elliot  also  good  night,  he  left 
the  room. 

When  the  girls  reached  the  chamber  which  Hannah  had 
prepared  for  them,  they  loitered  slowly  over  their  prepara- 
tions  for  bed,  talking,  as  girls  love  to  do,  upon  half  a  hun- 
dred things.  Even  after  Lucy  had  dropped  the  extinguisher 
over  the  candle,  they  still  lingered  beside  the  warm  stove. 
At  length  Mary  said,  — 

"  So  that  Mr.  Fanshaw  down  stairs  wields  the  rod  of 
empire  in  my  place.  Do  you  like  him  ?  " 

A  week  before,  Lucy  had  anticipated  seeing  Mary,  and 
telling  her  all  about  her  new  friend;  but  now  a  sudden 
reserve  possessed  her,  and  she  answered,  quietly,  — 

"  Yes ;  we  all  like  him  very  much  indeed." 

"  Docs  it  always  take  him  so  long  to  say  good  night  as 
it  did  just  now  ?" 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  73 

Lucy  laughed — a  little,  light  laugh,  whose  carelessness 
was  well  assumed. 

"  I  must  tell  you  about  that,  Mary.  I  fell  and  hurt  my- 
self rather  badly  at  Mrs.  Brown's  to-night;  and  I  made 
him  promise  not  to  tell  Hannah.  But  you  all  talked  about 
my  looking  pale,  and  that  nonsense;  and  I  suppose  he 
thought  I  was  nearly  dead,  for  he  tried  to  persuade  me  to 
tell  her,  and  have  something  done." 

"O!  was  that  all?" 

"  This  headache  of  mine  is  certainly  enough,"  returned 
Lucy,  in  a  languid  tone. 

"  Poor  little  head  !  I  never  dreamed  it  could  ache,"  said 
Mary,  caressingly  stroking  Lucy's  long  hair. 

"  "Why  should  not  my  head  ache  as  well  as  other  peo- 
ple's?" 

"  It  must,  I  suppose ;  yet  I  never  associate  you  with  any 
of  the  common  ills  of  life ;  they  do  not  belong  to  you  in 
the  least.  But  come,  we  are  disobeying  the  good  Hannah 
in  sitting  here  so  long." 

The  morning  was  well  advanced  when  the  two  girls  came 
down  stairs ;  and  they  were  still  loitering  over  a  late 
breakfast  when  Captain  Eraser  entered.  He  greeted 
Mary  —  of  whom  he  was  very  fond  —  with  almost  boister- 
ous delight,  and  presently  carried  off  both  the  girls  to 
spend  the  day  with  him.  There  was  something  in  the  at- 
mosphere of  Lucy's  home  which  was  especially  grateful 
and  pleasant  to  Mary.  Her  own  home  surroundings  had 
a  character  of  scant,  faded,  threadbare  gentility,  which, 
even  aside  from  any  sense  of  discomfort  or  inconvenience, 
was  a  perpetual  offence  to  her.  Contrasted  with  the 
genial,  large-hearted  hospitality  of  the  Frasers,  the  prodi- 


74  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

gal,  almost  sumptuous,  co'mfort,  and  the  happy,  affection- 
ate content  of  which  everything  was  so  eloquent,  her  own 
seemed  even  more  pinched,  barren,  and  unattractive.  For 
the  girl  had  a  taste  for  luxury,  and  a  love  of  elegance  and 
beauty,  which  craved  gratification,  though  they  found 
little.  Mary  had  early  been  left  an  orphan ;  and  at  an 
age  which,  if  not  childhood,  certainly  is  not  womanhood, 
had  been  obliged  to  turn  her  face  resolutely  from  all 
which  in  youth  promises  and  allures,  to  become  the  sup- 
port of  others.  Her  father  —  a  clergyman  in  the  formal, 
old-fashioned  village  of  Windham,  where  she  still  lived  — 
had,  in  early  life,  married,  against  the  wishes,  indeed, 
against  the  positive  commands,  of  the  young  lady's  father, 
the  daughter  of  a  very  rich  man.  Mr.  Dwight  had  never 
forgiven  his  daughter  —  had  never  seen  her  since  her  mar- 
riage ;  and  Mrs.  Elliot  was  fully  aware  that  he  had  made 
his  will,  and  that  she  and  her  children  were  entirely  left 
out  of  its  provisions.  This  knowledge  had  troubled  her 
little  during  her  husband's  lifetime;  but  when  he  sud- 
denly died,  leaving  her  with  two  children,  and  nothing  but 
a  small  life  assurance,  her  energy  and  her  courage  alike 
failed  her.  Now  the  mother  and  daughter  virtually 
changed  places.  Delicate  in  health  and  broken  in  spirit, 
Mrs.  Elliot  came  to  rely  wholly  on  the  stronger,  braver 
spirit  of  her  child  ;  and  Mary  became  the  protector  while 
she  should  still  have  been  the  protected.  At  an  age  when 
her  young  friends  had  no  weightier  cares  than  concerned 
a  becoming  spring  bonnet,  or  gloves  of  the  proper  shade, 
Mary  was,  unaided,  supporting  her  mother  and  educating 
a  delicate  younger  brother  —  unaided,  for,  though  Mrs. 
Elliot  had  two  sisters,  neither  was  able  to  be  of  much  as- 


HILLSBOKO'    FARMS.  75 

sistance.  One,  Mrs.  Alston,  was  herself  in  somewhat  strait- 
ened circumstances,  and,  with  three  daughters  of  her  own 
to  educate,  was  living  abroad.  Miss  Dwight,  who  lived 
at  home,  and  was  constantly  under  the  stern  eye  of  her 
father,  dared  make  no  movement  to  befriend  the  sister 
whom  she  really  loved  and  pitied,  and  would  gladly 
have  assisted.  Of  the  happiness  which  flows  from  an  ap- 
proving conscience,  and  the  sense  of  duties  well  per- 
formed, Mary,  of  course,  had  much ;  but  of  the  sweet, 
confident  reliance  of  the  child  upon  the  parent,  of  the 
thousand  nameless  enjoyments  which  life  offers  to  careless 
youth,  she  knew  nothing,  save  as  she  saw  them  in  the  lives 
of  others.  Keenly,  even  passionately,  alive  to  the  beauty 
and  joy  of  existence,  she  saw  her  best  years  passing  away 
in  an  unequal  contest  with  poverty.  With  all  its  draw- 
backs, Mary's  position  was  not,  however,  without  some 
advantages.  In  the  quiet,  fussy  old  town  of  her  birth, 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  agreeable  and  cultivated  society, 
in  which  she  was  always  warmly  welcomed,  and  had  many 
friends.  A  certain  brilliancy  of  manner,  a  gay  and  grace- 
ful exterior,  which  covered  at  all  times  the  wearing  care 
and  anxiety  of  her  life,  and  a  great  share  of  social  tact 
made  her  society,  even  with  her  manifold  occupations,  a 
great  deal  sought  in  Windham. 

It  was  about  four  in  the  afternoon  when  the  girls  re- 
turned. Lucy  lingered  on  the  doorstep  to  talk  with  Ben 
Miller,  who  was  just  coming  up  the  hill ;  and  Mary  went 
in  to  Hannah,  whom  she  found  sewing  in  the  sitting- 
room. 

"  Well,  Mary,"  questioned  Hannah, "  does  it  look  natural 
up  at  uncle  Robert's  ?  " 


76  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

"  O,  yes ;  everything  is  just  as  I  left  it,  except,  indeed, 
your  grandmother.  I  am  sorry  to  see  her  looking  so  ill." 

"  Didn't  Lucy  come  back  with  you  ?  "         „ 

"Yes;  I  left  her  on  the  doorstep  talking  with  Beri 
Miller.  By  the  way,  does  Ben  still  hold  his  old  fancy  for 
her?" 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  And  how  is  it  with  Lucy  ?  If  I  remember  rightly,  we 
use'd  often  to  be  puzzled  last  summer  to  make  her  out." 

"I  am  puzzled  now,  sometimes.  Still,  I  don't  think 
there  is  much  room  for  doubt.  I  know  she  likes  him,  and 
her  father  and  mother  set  everything  by  Ben.  He  is  a 
right  good  fellow,  very  steady  for  his  age,  and  worth  some 
property  —  not  near  so  much  as  Lucy  will  have,  but  enough 
to  give  a  young  man  a  good  start  in  life." 

"  I  do  not  believe  the  fact  that  Ben  has  property,  or  that 
her  friends  desire  the  match,  will  decide  Lucy  in  his  favor." 

"  No,  perhaps  not ;  but  all  these  things  have  their  in- 
fluence. Uncle  Robert  and  aunt  Susan  would  feel  dread- 
fully to  have  Lucy  settle  far  away  from  them.  For  my 
part,  I  should  be  right  glad,  in  the  course  of  a  year  or  two, 
to  see  Lucy  and  Ben  married,  and  have  little  doubt  but  I 
shall.  Lucy  loves  to  tease  Ben,  and  make  him  think  she 
doesn't  care  more  for  him  than  for  a  dozen  others ;  but 
you  know,  as  well  as  I,  that  she  will  always  do  a  little  dif- 
ferent from  what  she  feels." 

"  In  that,  Hannah,  she  is  like  the  rest  of  us.  I  believe 
we  have  the  reputation  of  looking  one  way  and  thinking 
another.  I  don't  know  what  would  become  Oi  our  sex  but 
for  that  privilege." 

"I  can't  say,  Mary,  that  I  consider  it  a  privilege.     For 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  77 

my  part,  I  like  to  have  people  act  just  as  they  feel.  It 
saves  a  great  deal  of  fuss,  and  often  a  great  deal  of  un- 
happiness." 

"In  that  case  we  should  lose  all  the  delightful  uncertainty, 
which,  in  novels  at  least,  makes  half  the  charm  of  these 
affairs.  I  foresee  that  we  are  to  remain  in  that  uncertainty, 
for  I  doubt  if  thumb-screws  would  extort  .anything  from 
Lucy  which  she  did  not  choose  to  tell." 

"  No ;  with  all  her  talkativeness  she  is  as  close-mouthed 
as  any  other  Fraser  about  what  she  thinks  her  own  affairs* 
But,  dear  me  !  it  is  almost  five  this  minute,  and  I  must  go 
right  about  supper." 

Hannah  and  Mary  had  both  left  the  room  when  Lucy 
came  in  and  stood  by  the  window,  looking  musingly  out. 
She  had  just  parted  from  Ben  Miller,  who,  though  his 
anxiety  had  been  measurably  allayed  by  the  report  of  He- 
man  and  Lydia  in  the  morning,  could  not  be  quite  satisfied 
till  he  had  heard  from  Lucy's  own  lips  of  her  entire  re- 
covery. Ben's  heart  was  in  his  throat  as  she  turned  her 
bright  face  towards  him,  and  made  room  for  him  on  the 
doorstep  beside  her.  Lucy  must  have  been  very  much 
pro-occupied  not  to  observe  the  earnestness  of  Ben's  de- 
meanor, or  to  see  the  soft  fire  in  his  eyes.  Quite  uncon- 
sciously she  stood,  with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  far-off  purple 
horizon,  chatting  in  a  lively  way  of  the  events  of  the  pre- 
vious evening ;  but  when  she  turned,  and  for  the  first  time 
met  his  gaze,  it  troubled  her.  She  returned  it  for  an  in- 
stant, a  pained  look  gathering  in  her  eyes.  A  moment 
after,  she  dropped  them  quietly,  and  went  on  talking  as 
before. 

Lucy  had  long  known  that  Ben  admired  her,  perhaps 


78  H1LLSBORO'    FARMS. 

liked  her  better  than  any  of  the  girls ;  but  at  that  mo- 
ment she  read  for  the  first  time  all  that  was  in  the  simple, 
manly  heart  of  her  companion.  She  felt  a  choking  sensa- 
tion in  her  throat,  and  in  a  few  minutes  contrived  to  end 
the  interview.  As  she  stood  now,  looking  absently  out  into 
the  twilight,  her  heart  was  ill  at  ease.  With  all  her  ca- 
price and  girlish  love  of  power,  she  yet  shrank  from  giving 
pain ;  and  she  knew  that  the  feeling  which  she  now  for 
the  first  time  recognized  in  Ben  could  be  productive  of 
nothing  else.  Bitterly  she  reproached  herself  for  her 
blindness  and  heedlessness ;  and  she  resolved  that  the  fault 
should  not  be  hers  if  Ben  further  deceived  himself.  O,  she 
had  been  so  wrong !  She  felt  sure  that  she  did  not  love 
Ben  ;  and,  at  the  thought,  far  other  eyes  than  his  rose  to 
her  memory,  and  Ben  and  his  troubles  slowly  faded  from 
her  mind,  a  crowd  of  pleasanter  fancies  floating  through 
her  brain. 

Fanshaw,  returning  from  school,  passed  the  window,  and, 
seeing  her,  looked  up  with  a  smile  and  a  bow. 

"  Ah,  truant,"  he  said,  coming  in  a  moment  after,  "  how 
do  you  excuse  yourself  for  being  absent  all  day?" 

"  I  had  not  thought  to  invent  an  excuse,"  she  answered, 
gayly.  "  And  O,  Mr.  Fanshaw,  I  haven't  a  bit  of  a  lesson 
for  to-night.  What  will  you  say  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  must  forgive  you  this  time,  I  suppose.  But  listen, 
Lucy ;  if  it  happens  again,  I  shall  declare  war  against  Miss 
Elliot." 

"Against  Mary!    Why?" 

"  It  is  her  fault ;  she  demands  too  much  of  your  time, 
I  cannot  patiently  see  our  pleasant  lessons  broken  up. 
How  long  does  Miss  Elliot  stay?" 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  79 

"  Five  or  six  weeks,  perhaps." 

"  O,  Lucy,  not  so  long  as  that!" 

"Indeed,  sir,  and  why  not?     She  is  my  friend." 

"  Ah,  well !  one  must  submit ;  but  we  had  such  a  cosy 
and  pleasant  time  with  only  Hannah  and  the  children! 
It  was  entirely  to  my  taste ;  and  I  do  not  care  to  see  a 
foreign  element  added  to  our  society." 

"  But  you  will  like  Mary,  I  know.    You  must  like  her." 

"  If  you  say  so,  I  will  try." 

Mary's  voice  from  the  stair-head  summoned  Lucy,  and 
Fanshaw  holding  open  the  door,  she  ran  lightly  up  to  her 
friend. 


80  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  slight  ripple  which  Miss  Elliot's  arrival  caused  in 
the  tranquil  current  of  life  at  the  Pages'  quickly  subsided, 
and  the  stream  flowed  as  before.  Mary  glided  readily  and 
at  once  into  its  quiet  course.  Her  overtasked  energies 
found  the  rest  for  which  they  longed.  Worn  and  weary 
with  months  of  teaching,  the  peace  and  repose  of  her  pres- 
ent life  were  inexpressibly  refreshing.  Happy  to  be  again 
with  friends  she  loved,  finding  an  unexpected  pleasure  in 
Fanshaw's  acquaintance,  and  with  every  hour  regaining 
some  portion  of  her  wasted  strength,  her  days  went  swift- 
ly by. 

These  were  golden  days  to  Lucy,  too,  embracing  in 
their  round  so  much  of  the  joy  of  existence  —  family  ties, 
friendship,  love.  In  the  warmth  of  this  last  and  but  half 
acknowledged  presence  graces  hitherto  unseen  were 
blooming  in  her.  Admiring  friends  said  Lucy  Fraser  grew 
prettier  every  day;  and  to  Ben  Miller's  adoring  eyes  she 
seemed  more  nearly  allied  to  the  angels  than  ever  before. 
Around  her  breathed  an  atmosphere  of  pure  enjoyment; 
and  under  some  new  and  subtile  influence  her  nature  was 
slowly  and  silently  unfolding,  as,  leaf  by  leaf,  the  graceful, 
dark-green  sheath  of  the  hyacinth  uncloses,  revealing  at 
last  the  perfect  spike  of  fragrant  flowers. 

One  quiet  afternoon,  when  Mary  had  been  a  couple  of 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  81 

weeks  at  Hillsboro',  the  two  girls  sat  in  the  chamber  which 
they  occupied  together,  busy  with  some  sewing.  The  sun 
was  sinking  slowly.  Now  he  rested  his  glowing  disk  on 
the  hills  of  Edgehill,  burnishing  with  gold  their  snowy 
summits,  and  pouring  a  flood  of  yellow  down  their  rugged 
sides,  marked  with  many  a  ravine  and  chasm.  Mary 
dropped  her  work,  threw  open  the  window,  and  leaned 
out  to  inhale  the  mild  winter  air. 

"  Put  down  your  work,  Lucy,"  said  she,  "  and  come  to 
the  window." 

Lucy  obeyed  the  call,  and  stood  with  her  arm  round  her 
friend's  waist. 

"How  lovely  it  is!"  said  Mary.  "See,  far  away  on 
those  hill-sides,  what  exquisite  lights !  and  those  shadows, 
revealing  the  most  trifling  undulations  as  distinctly  as  we 
see  each  other's  faces!  And  there,  miles  away  to  the 
south,  is  a  house  we  cannot  see  for  the  trees,  but  its  win- 
dows are  all  ablaze  like  a  watch-fire.  Ah !  now  the  sun  is 
sinking,  and  the  flame  in  the  window  grows  crimson ;  and 
now,  fainter  and  fainter,  it  is  fast  dying  out.  Now  look 
where  the  sun  has  set ;  how  the  sky  shades  through  burn- 
ing orange  and  purest  amber  into  rose-purple  and  pale- 
green  ! " 

Lucy  stood  silent,  her  heart  beating  quickly  as  she  gazed 
on  the  evening's  gorgeous  show.  There  were  few  who 
brought  to  the  beautiful  in  nature  so  quick  an  eye  or  so 
loving  a  heart.  She  inhaled  beauty  as  the  air  she  breathed, 
and  with  just  as  little  heed  of  the  source  of  her  pleasure. 
Her  childish  eyes  had  early  been  familiar  with  the  noble 
scenery  of  Hillsboro',  and  her  little  feet  .with  its  wide  for- 
ests and  hill-sides ;  but,  in  all  her  wanderings,  the  happy 
G 


82  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

child  had  never  asked  why  her  heart  was  so  light,  any 
more  than  why  the  sun  shone.  As  she  grew  older  it  was 
the  same.  The  world  was  lovely  —  life  was  a  long  delight. 
Of  late  she  was  aware  of  a  new  element  in  her  enjoyment, 
when  pleasure  rose  almost  to  pain. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of?  "  asked  Mary,  noticing  her 
rapt  and  speaking  face. 

"  I  was  thinking  how  beautiful  it  all  is  to-night  —  how 
lovely  Hillsboro'  always  is.  I  should  be  so  sorry  to  go  far 
away  for  any  length  of  time !  I  cannot  understand  how 
people  can  leave  pleasant  homes,  and  go  wandering  off  for 
years.  It  would  make  me  wretched." 

"Of  course  it  would,  my  dear  Contentment;  and  take 
my  advice,  and  refuse  every  man  who  would  take  you 
more  than  five  and  twenty  miles  from  home ;  or,  better 
still,  never  leave  home  at  all." 

"  Do  you  really  advise  me  so  ?  " 

"  Ah,  well !  I  don't  know.  One  thing  is  certain,  how- 
ever :  there  is  no  chance  of  your  following  such  advice,  if 
I  give  it." 

"  Perhaps  I  may ;  who  knows  ?  " 

"  Not  if  somebody  I  know  can  prevent  it.  Look  in  my 
eyes,  Lucy,"  she  added,  taking  the  beautiful  face  in  both 
her  hands,  and  looking  into  the  clear  depths  of  the  violet 
eyes.  Lucy  returned-  her  gaze  steadily  for  a  moment,  and 
then  closed  her  eyes  and  turned  away,  a  slight  blush  stain- 
ing her  cheek. 

"  Ah !  you  are  not  fair,  Lucy !  I  talk  my  heart  out  to 
you ;  but  no  sooner  do  I  catch  a  little  glimpse  of  yours, 
than  it  is  withdrawn." 

"  What  nonsense  you  talk,  Mary !    One  would  suppose 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  83 

I  had  some  great  secret.  There !  Hannah  is  calling  us  to 
supper;  come!" 

Tea  was  over,  and  the  family  were  gathered  in  the  sit- 
ting-room. A  round,  cherry-wood  work-stand  was  drawn 
to  a  warm  corner  beside  the  fire,  and  on  either  side  of  it 
sat  Captain  Fraser  and  Mary  Elliot,  absorbed  in  the  for- 
mer's favorite  game  of  piquet.  The  fire-light  flickered 
over  them,  giving  a  deeper  shade  of  bronze  to  the  old 
man's  massive  features,  as,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  cards, 
and  one  hand  thoughtfully  stroking  his  heavy  beard,  he 
contemplated  the  chances  of  the  game.  Mary,  in  a  dress 
of  brilliant  hues,  her  black  hair  arranged  in  shining,  satiny 
bands,  sat  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  regarding  her  oppo- 
nent with  an  air  of  triumphant  satisfaction.  The  warfare 
at  piquet  had  become  a  thing  of  almost  daily  recurrence 
between  frhese  two,  for  the  captain  spent  a  part  of  every 
day  with  his  grandchildren,  and  Mary's  idle  hours  were 
often  given  to  his  entertainment.  It  was  seldom  that  her 
skill  was  equal  to  beating  him ;  but  she  had  now  won  sev- 
eral games,  and  was  in  a  fair  way  of  winning  another;  so 
she  enjoyed  her  victory  the  more  from  its  rarity.  Lucy, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  was  bending  over  her  desk, 
working  hard  at  a  difficult  French  exercise.  Fanshaw  sat 
by  Hannah,  half  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  rocking-chair, 
talking  to  her  occasionally,  and  watching  the  others,  bis 
gaze  resting  longest,  perhaps,  on  Mary's  eloquent  face. 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  broken  at  last  by 
Captain  Fraser  exclaiming,  as  he  swept  up  the  cards,  — 

"  I  give  it  up,  Mary.  You  have  had  revenge  enough  for 
one  night.  Lucy,  how  much  longer  do  you  mean  to  pore 
over  that  lesson  ?  " 


84  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  Only  a  few  minutes,  grandpa." 

"You  will  spoil  your  eyes  with  all  this  studying." 

Lucy  went  on  with  her  lesson,  and  the  conversation 
among  the  others  became  general.  When  the  exercise 
was  finished,  Lucy  folded  her  papers,  shut  up  her  desk, 
and  went  round  and  stood  behind  her  grandfather's 
chair.  They  were  talking  about  the  significance  of 
names. 

"  Names  mean  a  great  deal  to  me,"  said  Mary.  "  Many 
have  a  distinct  personality,  quite  independent  of  any  asso- 
ciation with  persons  who  have  borne  them.  Anne  is 
always  tall,  and  fair,  and  cold.  Margaret  is  stately." 

"  What  does  Lucy  suggest  ? "  asked  the  owner  of  that 
sweet  name,  resting  her  chin  on  the  top  of  her  grandfa- 
ther's head,  and  looking  down  at  Mary. 

"  It  suggests  the  torment  of  my  life,"  growled  the  old 
man. 

"  Now,  grandpa,  I  shall  have  to  choke  you  a  little  for 
that,"  she  answered,  tightening  her  clasping  arms  about 
his  neck.  "But  tell  me,  Mary;  what  does  my  name  sug- 
gest?" 

"  Lucy  —  Lucy  —  why,  a  '  russet  gown  and  apron  blue,' 
to  be  sure." 

"Or, 

'A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone, 

Half  hidden  from  the  eye ; 
A  modest  star,  when  only  one 
Is  shining  in  the  sky,'  " 

prompted  Fanshaw,  glancing  with  a  smile  at  Mary. 

"  Where  did  you  get  your  name,  Lucy  ?  "  asked  the  lat- 
ter. "Who  gave  it  you  ?" 


HILLSBOBO*    FARMS.  85 

"My  mother,  I  suppose,  in  honor  of  some  great  aunt,  or 
cousin  ;^I  never  asked." 

"No,"  said  the  captain;  "your  mother  had  nothing  to 
do  with  it.  I  named  you  myself,  and  for  my  first  love." 

"Why,  grandfather  Fraser!  what  do  you  mean?  Grand- 
ma's name  is  Alice,"  exclaimed  Lucy,  with  perfect  serious- 
ness. 

"  That  is  very  true,  and  so  is  what  I  tell  you.  When  I 
was  sixteen,  I  fell  desperately  in  love  with  Lucy  Reide, 
aged  twenty-three,  and  daughter  of  my  old  captain  of  that 
name.  I  thought  the  sun  would  never  shine  again,  be- 
cause she  laughed  at  me  when  I  told  her  of  my  love.  It 
nearly  broke  my  heart  —  indeed,  I  don't  think  I  have  quite 
got  over  it  to  this  day;  and  I  named  you  Lucy  in  the 
hope  that  you  would  resemble  her ;  but  you  don't." 

"  She  is  inclined  to  be  equally  destructive,  sir,"  observed 
Fanshaw. 

"  Grandpa,  I  am  astonished  that  you  ever  cared  for  any 
one  but  grandma." 

"  My  dear  child,  I  was  crossed  in  love  eight  several  times 
after  that,  before  I  married  your  grandmother.  It  runs  in 
the  blood  of  the  Frasers ;  so,  look  out,  young  lady ! " 

The  others  laughed,  but  Lucy  was  perfectly  serious. 
Just  then  Jerry,  Squire  Fraser's  "hired  man,"  who  had 
been  to  the  "  Centre,"  came  in  with  letters  and  papers. 

"  Wai,  cap'n,  most  ready  to  go?"  he  asked,  as  he  took 
the  chair  Heman  offered  him. 

"  I  will  go  directly,  Jerry,"  said  the  captain,  who  was 
breaking  the  seal  of  a  letter.  As  he  tore  off  the  envelope, 
Lucy  caught  his  hand  to  see  the  post-mark. 

"M-a-r  —  a   little  nearer,  grandpa;   I  can't  see  dis- 


86  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

tinctly  —  M  -  a  -  r  —  Marseilles.  From  whom  is  it,  I  won- 
der?" 

"I  can  tell  better  when  you  allow  me  to  read  it." 

He  opened  the  letter,  and  Lucy,  with  the  privileged  free- 
dom of  long  habit,  leaned  on  his  shoulder  and  read  from 
the  page  with  him.  She  was  accustomed  to  read  his  let- 
ters, for  she  usually  answered  them  all,  the  old  man  insist- 
ing that  one  of  his  fingers  was  getting  stiff. 

"What  is  it  all  about,  grandpa?" 

"  Look  here,  little  simpleton ;  cannot  you  turn  that  into 
English,  with  all  your  French  lessons  ?  " 

"  But  it  is  such  a  crabbed  hand !  Please  turn  it  over,  so 
I  can  see  the  name  —  Andre  —  Andre  Lascaux;  and  he 
is  your  friend,  ever  very  devoted.  Ah !  it  is  from  the  dear, 
funny  little  captain,  the  grandfather  of  Julie,  to  whom  I 
sent  the  comb  and  the  ear-rings.  Does  he  say  she  has  re- 
ceived them  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  child ;  that  could  hardly  be  expected,  as  it  is 
little  more  than  a  fortnight  since  they  went.  But  he  talks 
of  the  pleasant  home  he  has  with  his  children  at  Marseilles, 
and  urges  me  to  visit  him.  What  do  you  say,  Lucy?  shall 
we  go?" 

"  I  go  to  France,  grandpa?  Why,  I  would  not  be  hired, 
as  Heman  says,  to  cross  the  Atlantic." 

"  O,  you  silly  goose ! "  exclaimed  Mary.  "  I  will  go  with 
you,  Captain  Fraser,  and  you  will  not  have  to  hire  me, 
either." 

"  Ah,  Mary !  I  am  afraid  I  am  too  old  to  go  boxing 
about  the  world  any  more.  They  make  such  a  baby  of  me 
that  I  doubt  if  anything  would  drive  me  from  my  chim- 
ney-corner now." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  87 

"  I  shall  never  let  you  go  away  again,  grandpa.  You 
belong  to  me  now,  and  I  cannot  spare  you ;  neither  can  I 
go  roaming  off  with  you." 

"Mr.  Fanshaw,"  said  Mary,  "have  you  ever  seen  so 
amusing  a  grandchild  as  this  ?  She  seems  to  think  Cap- 
tain Fraser  was  made  for  her  exclusive  benefit,  and  claims 
him  over  the  heads  of  all  other  pretenders." 

"  It  must  be  pleasant  to  be  so  claimed,  Miss  Elliot.  I 
dare  say  younger  men  might  be  found  not  unwilling  to 
bear  it." 

Lucy  pouted  a  little,  and  her  grandfather  pinched  her 
cheek  as  he  rose,  saying,  "  The  young  men  must  content 
themselves  as  best  they  can.  Lucy  promised  me,  years 
ago,  to  live  an  old  maid  for  my  sake ;  and  I  expect  her  to 
keep  her  word." 

"  And  I  will,  grandpa." 

"  Very  demurely  spoken.  Now,  bring  me  my  overcoat ; 
there  —  that  is  right — now  turn  up  the  collar.  Good 
night,  dear.  Good  night,  children,  all ;  that  may  include 
Mary  and  Mr.  Fanshaw.  Now,  Jerry,  I  am  ready;"  and, 
nodding  kindly  to  those  remaining,  and  followed  to  the 
door  by  Lucy  and  all  the  Pages,  the  old  man  took  his 
leave. 

"How  happy  she  is!"  said  Mary,  softly,  when  she  and 
Fanshaw  were  alone.  "Is  it  not  refreshing  to  have  known 
so  bright  and  unshadowed  a  nature?" 

"  It  is,  indeed.  The  recollection  of  her  will  be  to  me 
like  some  of  those  exquisite  May-days  our  memories  of 
childhood  hold.  Excuse  me,  but  a  friendship  between  you 
two  is  a  constant  enigma  to  me." 

"Indeed!  and  why  so?" 


88  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

"I  can  hardly  tell;  and  yet  Lucy  is  so  different  —  as 
you  said  just  now,  so  unshadowed  —  so  completely  a  child. 
I  would  not  be  afraid  to  assert  that  you  have  no  other 
friend  who  in  the  least  resembles  her." 

"You  are  right ;  nor  have  I  another  so  dear.  There  are 
many  from  whose  society  I  enjoy  more,  but  none  whom  I 
love  so  well.  How  that  old  man  worships  her !  And  her 
father,  too !  It  will  be  a  sorry  day  for  them,  whea  they 
give  her  up  to  a  younger  claimant." 

"  You  think  it  down  on  the  cards  that  Ben  is  to  have 
her?" 

"  I  suppose  so,  of  course.  The  family  all  regard  it  much 
the  same  as  settled." 

"And  you  would  be  quite  satisfied  to  see  her  given  to 
our  young  friend  ?  " 

"  Unhesitatingly,  yes.  I  cordially  like  and  respect  Ben  ; 
and  he  would  offer  her  the  sphere  in  life  she  is  best  fitted 
by  nature  to  fill." 

"And  that  is  — ?" 

"  The  sphere  her  mother  has  filled  before  her — to  be  the 
wife  of  an  honest,  upright  man,  her  wishes  bounded  by  the 
pleasant  round  of  duties  and  interests  falling  to  her  share 
as  wife,  mother,  friend,  and  neighbor.  Ben  is  a  man  who 
will  grow  in  consequence  in  the  community  in  which  he 
lives;  and  with  such  a  wife  as  Lucy  at  his  fireside,  I  think 
he  will  be  one  to  be  envied.  Do  not  you?" 

"  He  will,  indeed ;  but  I  must  dissent  from  one  thing 
you  have  said.  You  describe  the  sphere  which  Lucy  is 
best  fitted  by  nature  to  fill.  I  should  have  said,  best  fitted 
by  education" 

"  I  hardly  see  the  force  of  your  distinction." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  89 

"Lucy  is,  by  nature,  Ben's  superior,  and  only  made  his 
equal  by  the  accidents  of  circumstance.  Had  she  been,  in 
some  respects,  differently  educated,  she  might  have  graced 
almost  any  sphere.  As  it  is,  I  dare  say  she  has  never 
dreamed  of  any  other  than  the  one  she  ^will  probably 
fill." 

Here  Lucy,  coming  back  into  the  room,  interrupted  the 
conversation  of  the  two  friends,  who  were  so  confidently 
discussing  and  deciding  upon  her  destiny. 


90  IIILLSBORO'   FARMS. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ONE  cold,  pale  afternoon  in  January,  Mary  and  Lucy 
were  alone  together  in  their  chamber.  Mary,  with  her 
hair  unbound  and  streaming  over  the  pillow,  was  lying 
upon  the  bed,  her  fingers  between  the  closed  leaves  of  a 
book,  marking  the  place  where  the  deepening  twilight 
had  arrested  her  reading.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  absently 
on  the  distant  hills,  from  which  the  cold  sunset  light  was 
slowly  fading.  There  was  a  droop  to  her  usually  firm  lips, 
and  an  unwonted  look  of  sadness  in  her  dark  eyes.  Mary 
had  been  a  month  at  Hillsboro',  and  all  the  days  had  slid 
so  rapidly  by,  each  bringing  its  certainty  of  quiet  enjoy- 
ment, that  she  was  almost  surprised  to  know  how  much 
of  the  time  allotted  for  her  visit  was  already  passed ;  and 
she  contemplated,  with  an  aversion  even  greater  than  she 
had  expected,  the  approaching  period  of  her  departure. 
Rare,  in  her  hard-working  life,  were  these  intervals  of 
leisure ;  and  she  knew,  when  this  one  ended,  it  would  be 
followed  by  months  of  toil  and  weariness  to  heart  and 
brain.  The  prospect  had  never  been  less  attractive;  or, 
rather,  it  had  never  seemed  more  dreary  and  discouraging. 
Of  course  this  was  very  weak  and  foolish.  If  she  had 
been  in  the  least  heroic,  or  strong-minded,  she  would  have 
"  gloried  in  the  conflict  of  life,"  and  despised  the  joys 
which  are  said  to  enervate  the  soul.  But,  then,  she  wasn't 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  91 

heroic.  She  was  a  good  girl,  and  she  had  done  her  duty 
bravely,  setting  her  lips  hard  when  she  came  to  the  disa- 
greeable places,  and  carefully  covering  up  whatever  in  her 
lot  was  most  hard  and  grinding,  in  order  that  people  need 
not  pester  her  with  compassion ;  but  as  for  finding  pleas- 
ure in  her  duty,  she  did  not:  she  hated  it.  Her  whole 
nature  craved  happiness,  rest,  and  shelter,  as  the  plant 
craves  sunshine  and  fresh  air;  and,  contemplating  the 
bare,  laborious  years  that  lay  before  her,  so  empty  of  all 
that  more  fortunate  lives  contain,  her  heart  would  fail  her 
sometimes,  as  it  did  to-night.  She  wished  she  had  never 
come  to  Hillsboro'  —  never  known  the  last  four  calm  and 
happy  weeks.  Of  what  use  were  they?  Had  she  staid 
with  her  mother,  her  thoughts  would  not  have  been  turned 
from  what  was  inevitable ;  but  here  nothing  reminded  her 
of  labor  or  poverty ;  and  every  day  was  making  the  return 
more  difficult. 

But,  after  all,  she  had  been  very  happy  here ;  and  was 
it  not  folly  to  waste  in  vain  regrets  the  hours  of  enjoy- 
ment which  might  remain  ?  She  would  enjoy  while  she 
could,  and  not  dim  present  pleasure  with  the  thought  that 
it  was  passing.  She  roused  herself,  and  turned  to  Lucy, 
who  was  bending  forward  to  catch  the  last  faint  daylight. 

"  Dear  Lucy,"  she  said, "  pray  put  away  that  work.  You 
are  ruining  your  eyes." 

"  Yes,  Mary ;  it  is  this  moment  done ;  and  isn't  it 
pretty?"  the  other  exclaimed,  holding  up  her  work  —  a 
frock  of  her  own,  round  the  low  neck  and  short  sleeves 
of  which  she  had  been  setting  a  border  of  swan's  down. 

"  It  is  charming,  my  dear,  and  so  will  you  be  when  ar- 
rayed in  it." 


92  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  it.  But,  Mary,  do  come  and 
look  out.  I  am  afraid  it  looks  like  a  storm  for  to- 
morrow." 

The  pale  light  of  the  setting  sun,  whose  cold  gleam  had 
but  partially  enlivened  the  gray  curtain  of  cloud,  was 
slowly  dying  out.  The  day  had  been  intensely  cold,  and 
now  a  piercing  east  wind  was  blowing,  affording  some 
foundation  for  Lucy's  fears  regarding  the  weather  for 
to-morrow.  The  evening  of  the  next  day  had  been  ap- 
pointed for  the  wedding  of  a  young  friend  of  Lucy's,  who 
lived  at  the  Centre,  and  a  large  company  were  invited  to 
be  present  at  the  ceremony.  Lucy  had  looked  forward  to 
this  occasion  with  a  good  deal  of  pleasure,  which,  of  late, 
however,  had  been  somewhat  damped  by  reason  of  a  long- 
given  promise  to  Ben  Miller  that  he  should  be  her  escort. 
But,  despite  this  slight  drawback,  she  anticipated  the 
event  with  natural  eagerness ;  and  she  now  laid  down  her 
woi-lc,  and  hurried  from  the  room  to  consult  Hannah's 
greater  wisdom  on  the  subject  of  the  weather. 

As  Mary  looked  out  at  the  chill  and  forbidding  sky,  she 
felt  some  disposition  to  return  to  her  sombre  and  despond- 
ing mood ;  but,  resolute  to  throw  it  off,  she  moved  about 
the  room,  putting  various  little  things  in  their  places, 
smoothed  her  hair,  arranged  her  already  perfectly-ordered 
drawers, — finding  a  relief  in  the  most  trifling  occupation, — 
and  finally  went  down  to  supper. 

At  the  table  she  found  only  Hannah,  the  children,  and 
Lucy.  The  master,  Hannah  explained,  had  gone  to  Dea- 
con Sharpe's  to  tea. 

"  Yes ;  I  remember  he  said  at  dinner  he  should  go.  I 
wonder  if  he  enjoys  these  tea-drinkings  as  much  as  I  did 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  93 

last  summer.  My  scholars  always  knew  as  well  as  myself 
when  I  was  invited  out  to  tea.  They  knew  instantly  the 
two  or  three  trifling  additions  to  my  toilet,  which  indicated 
one  of  these  festive  occasions  in  prospect.  And  then  the 
children  of  the  family  where  I  was  to  go  would  wait  till 
school  was  done,  and  trudge  beside  me,  with  their  dinner 
baskets,  along  the  quiet  roads,  now  scampering  after  a 
squirrel  on  the  fence,  now  picking  a  wild  flower  that  grew 
beside  the  road,  and  bringing  it  shyly  to  me.  Ah,  how 
pleasant  it  all  was,  Hannah!  "  '  . 

"And  how  well  you  seem  to  remember  it,  Mary  ! " 

"Remember  it,  my  dear  friend?  It  was  the  happiest 
summer  of  my  life.  Why  should  I  not  remember  it  ?  But, 
to  come  back  to  the  present,  Hannah,  what  is  your  opin- 
ion of  the  weather  for  to-morrow  ?  " 

"I  guess  it  will  be  fair.  It  has  looked  cloudy  for 
three  or  four  nights,  and  cleared  away  again  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"  I  thought  it  threatened  a  storm.  I  hope  you  are  the 
truer  prophet,  for  Lucy  here  will  cry  her  eyes  out  if  she 
loses  the  chance  to  transfix  somebody,  with  all  the  finery 
she  has  been  at  such  pains  to  get  ready.  I  assure  you, 
Hannah,  the  effect  of  that  blue  silk  and  swans-down  is 
quite  irresistible.  I  half  wish  I  were  a  man  myself,  that  I 
might,  with  a  show  of  propriety,  go  down  on  my  knees  — 
such  is  the  effect  of  that  gown." 

"  I  wish  you  were  a  man,  Mary." 

"Why,  my  dear?" 

"Why,  then  I  should  have  an  admirer  just  to  my  taste." 

"  I  supposed  you  had  that  already,  Lucy." 


94  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

It  was  towards  nine  o'clock  when  Fanshaw  returned. 
Mary  sat  sewing  alone  in  the  sitting-room.  She  looked 
up  as  he  came  in,  but  gravely,  and  without  her  usual  lively 
greeting.  He  saw  the  change  at  once,  and,  as  he  drew 
off  his  overcoat,  observed  her  face  narrowly. 

"  No  ill  news  from  home,  I  hope,  Miss  Elliot,"  he  said, 
motioning  towards  an  open  letter  lying  on  the  table. 

"  O,  no ;  a  very  lively  note  from  my  brother,  in  which 
the  only  unwelcome  allusion  is  to  my  some  time  leaving 
Hillsboro'.  Have  you  had  a  pleasant  evening?" 

"  Exti-emely  so ;  and  I  have  here  something  for  you 
which  I  begged  of  Mrs.  Sharpe  ;  "  and  he  opened  a  paper 
parcel,  containing  some  sprigs  of  geranium  and  half  a 
dozen  large  clove  pinks,  which  had  blossomed  in  a  box 
beside  the  good  woman's  kitchen  window. 

Mary's  old,  charming  smile  flashed  over  her  face  at  sight 
of  the  flowers. 

"  Beautiful ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  took  them  from  his 
hand.  "  Thank  you  for  the  flowers,  Mr.  Fanshaw,  but 
more  for  the  pleasant  memories  they  suggest.  Ah,  what 
lovely  summer  days  in  old  gardens  they  bring  back  to 
me,  with  blossoming  roses  and  white,  sailing  clouds! 
The  eyes  of  old  friends,  too,  look  at  me  from  among 
these  blossoms,"  she  added,  gently,  as  she  put  them,  half 
unconsciously,  to  her  lips.  In  a  moment  she  laid  them 
on  the  table,  and  began  gathering  up  her  sewing  ma- 
terials. 

Fanshaw  took  up  the  flowers,  looked  at  them  for  a 
moment,  and  then  touched  them  to  his  own  lips,  look- 
ing steadily  at  Mary  the  while.  She  met  his  glance  for 


HILLSBOUO'    FARMS.  95 

a  second,  and  then  turned  away,  angry  at  feeling  herself 
growing  crimson  under  his  prolonged  and  earnest  gaze. 
She  gathered  up  her  things  somewhat  hastily,  took  her 
flowers  in  silence,  and  left  the  room  with  a  nervous 
haste,  quite  at  variance  with  her  usual  self-possession. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  next  morning  the  sky  wore  a  pall  of  dull,  un- 
broken gray,  through  which  the  blue  eyes  scanning  it  so 
closely  could  see  no  token  of  fine  weather.  The  air  was 
intensely  cold,  with  a  strong  north-east  wind,  not  violent, 
but  steady,  and  telling  plainly  of  the  vast  waste  of  ice  and 
snow  over  which  it  blew.  Lucy  took  heart  from  Hannah's 
assurance  that  it  was  too  cold  to  snow,  and  finished  her 
preparations  for  the  evening ;  but  her  hopes  suffered  an 
eclipse  when  her  grandfather  came  in  towards  noon,  and 
gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  they  were  in  for  something 
more  than  a  squall  this  time.  She  had  such  unbounded 
faith  in  the  captain's  prognostics  that  her  spirits  sank  to 
zero;  and  when  she  followed  him  to  the  door,  and  saw 
for  herself  that  fine  flakes  of  snow  were  already  beginning 
to  fall  in  the  angry  way  which  often  begins  a  storm,  she 
gave  up  all  hope,  and  could  have  cried  very  easily  just 
then. 

For  an  hour  or  two  the  increase  in  the  storm  was  hardly 
perceptible ;  but  by  three  o'clock  it  had  made  some  head- 
way. The  snow  fell  faster,  and  began  to  sift  in  sudden 
showers  from  the  eaves  of  sheds  and  out-houses.  By 
dark  the  wind  had  risen  to  a  gale,  and  went  howling 
through  the  orchard,  and  round  the  buildings,  and  sweep- 
ing the  snow  in  blinding  clouds  far  down  the  hill -sides 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  97 

and  through  the  lonely  valley.  About  four  o'clock  a  sleigh 
drove  to  the  door,  and  Ben  Miller  came  in. 

"  Why,  Ben !  you  don't  think  of  going  to  the  Centre  to- 
night ?  "  crjed  Lucy,  as  she  came  to  meet  him. 

"  No,  indeed ;  but  I  had  to  get  my  horse  out  to  carry 
Mrs.  Perkins  home,  —  she  has  been  spending  the  day  at 
our  house,  —  so  I  thought  I  would  just  come  in  for  a  min- 
ute. Good  evening,  Miss  Elliot." 

"Good  evening,  Ben.     A  wild  night  —  is  it  not?" 

"It  is  dreadful:  we  haven't  had  anything  like  it  this 
winter." 

"  Sit  down,  Ben,"  said  Lucy.  "  Lydia,  please  take  He- 
man's  coat  off  that  chair,  and  turn  it  round  for  Ben." 

^  No,  Lucy,  I  can't  stop  ;  I  shan't  get  home  to-night  if  I 
do.  The  snow  is  drifting  into  the  road  very  fast,  and  it 
will  be  hard  keeping  the  track  when  the  daylight  is  gone." 

"  Well,"  said  Lucy,  a  little  plaintively,  "  I  am  sorry  it 
happens  so,  for  I  had  set  my  heart  on  going;  and*  I  don't 
suppose  they  will  postpone  the  wedding  on  our  account 
—  do  you?" 

"  I  am  afraid  they  will  not." 

"  Perhaps,  Lucy,"  suggested  Lydia,  "  some  one  else  will 
have  a  wedding  that  you  can  go  to ;  or  you  could  get  mar- 
ried yourself,  you  know." 

"  O,  one's  own  wedding  would  be  so  serious,  it  would 
not  be  half  so  nice  to  go  to  as  some  one's  else." 

Ben  did  stay  some  time,  for  all  he  had  declared  that  he 
could  not  sit  down.  He  found  Lucy  so  gentle  and  en- 
gaging that  it  was  hard  to  tear  himself  away.  He  went 
at  last,  however ;  and  Lucy  watched  him  from  the  window 
as  he  drove  away,  his  horse  just  discernible  in  the  fast- 


98  HILLSBORO*    FARMS. 

gathering  darkness.  When  she  could  no  longer  hear  the 
sound  of  his  sleigh-bells,  she  brought  a  low  stool  and  sat 
down  by  the  fire,  feeling  very  lonely  and  dispirited.  Tea 
was  over,  and  all  the  family  were  quiet  and  busy.  Mary 
was  lying  on  the  settee  across  the  room,  and  Fanshaw 
was  occupied  in  his  own  apartment.  Hannah,  as  usual, 
sat  knitting,  and  her  younger  cousins,  with  a  basket  of  but- 
ternuts on  the  stand  between  them,  were  busy  reading. 
The  crackling  of  the  fire  and  the  slow  ticking  of  the  tall 
clock  were  for  some  time  the  only  sounds  that  broke  the 
stillness  of  the  room. 

Without,  the  storm  raged  furiously.  Lucy  listened  for 
a  time  to  its  tumult,  and  at  last  exclaimed,  — 

"Mary,  isn't  this  awful?  What  a  night  for  Emma's 
wedding ! " 

"  It  is  a  dreadful  storm,  but  I  rather  enjoy  it.  These 
thick  walls  defy  the  weather." 

"  But  think  of  any  one  on  the  road  to-night ! " 

"  No  one  in  his  senses  would  be  abroad  on  such  a  night. 
It  is  just  the  time  for  a  ghost  story.  I  wish  we  had  one." 

"  And  I  am  glad  we  have  not ;  that  would  be  too  much," 
answered  Lucy,  rising  and  walking  about  the  room.  She 
was  restless  and  uneasy,  and  at  length  she  went '  into  the 
entry,  unlatched  the  door,  and  looked  out.  The  door 
flung  open  with  a  loud  bang,  and  a  cloud  of  snow 
swept  in. 

"O,  Lucy,  what  did  you  open  that  door  for?"  cried 
Hannah.  "Run,  Heman,  and  help  her  shut  it;  she  can 
never  do  it  alone." 

Heman  ran  to  Lucy's  aid ;  and  she,  as  she  shook  the 
snow  from  her  hair  and  dress,  again  exclaimed,  "Isn't  it 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  99 

frightful,  Heman  ?  Ben  would  never  get  home  in  the 
world." 

"  Nonsense !  He  is  at  home  safe  enough  long  before 
this.  It  is  a  rough  night,  though;  and  I'm  glad  I  ain't 
out  in  it."  He  came  back  and  shut  up  his  book,  and 
stood  tossing  into  the  fire  the  shells  of  the  butternuts, 
watching  them  as  they  snapped  and  sparkled  in  the 
glowing  coals.  "  I  believe  I'll  go  to  bed,"  he  said,  stretch- 
ing himself  lazily.  "  This  wind  will  put  me  to  sleep  in  no 
time." 

"  Put  you  to  sleep,  indeed !  I  do  believe  it  will  drive 
me  crazy." 

"  Come  here,  Lucy,"  said  Hannah  ;  "  bring  your  cricket 
and  sit  down  by  me."  And,  as  Heman  lighted  his  candle 
and  went  off  to  bed,  Lucy  brought  her  stool,  and,  sitting 
down,  laid  her  head  in  her  cousin's  lap.  Hannah  stroked 
the  young  head  with  a  gentle,  motherly  hand  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  went  on  with  her  knitting. 

They  sat  silent  for  a  short  time,  and  presently  the  door 
opened,  and  Fanshaw  entered.  He  had  a  book  in  his 
hand,  and  said,  as  he  came  to  the  fire,  — 

"  I  have  something  here  which  I  should  like  to  read,  if 
Miss  Elliot  is  not  too  sleepy,  and  Miss  Lucy  too  disap- 
pointed to  listen." 

"  I  wish  you  would  do  something  for  these  girls,  Mr. 
Fanshaw,"  said  Hannah.  "  I  believe  the  storm  has  given 
Lucy  the  fidgets  —  something  new  for  her." 

"  Yes,  do  read,  Mr.  Fanshaw,"  said  Lucy ;  and  Mary's 
smiling  eyes  looked  a  similar  request. 

The  charm  of  the  pages  soon  failed  to  fix  Lucy's  atten- 
tion ;  even  the  voice  of  the  reader  no  longer  filled  her  ear. 


100  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

Between  her  and  the  glowing  imagery  of  the  author 
would  come  the  blinding  snow-clouds;  and  she  listened 
with  strained  hearing  to  the  voice  of  the  storm.  Frag- 
ments of  wild  stories  aud  legends  crowded  to  her  memory; 
long-forgotten  tales  of  shipwreck,  violence,  and  murder  — 
of  ghost,  banshee,  and  demon.  The  wind,  shrieking 
through  the  leafless  orchard  boughs,  sounded  like  the  cry 
of  some  despairing  victim,  or,  wailing  in  the  great  chim- 
ney seemed 

"  The  fatal  banshee's  boding  scream." 

When  the  snow  swept  in  clouds  across  the  window-pane, 
she  seemed  to  hear  trailing  garments,  and  in  the  adjoin- 
ing rooms  and  passages  light,  ghostly  footsteps.  To  her 
excited  imagination,  voices,  sighs,  and  shrieks  of  demoniac 
laughter  filled  the  night.  As  the  evening  wore  on,  her 
nervousness  rose  to  a  pitch  almost  unendurable  ;  and  when 
Fanshaw  laid  down  his  book,  she  sprang  up  and  began 
walking  about  the  room.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  her 
eyes  bright,  and  her  whole  manner  betokened  extreme 
excitement  and  restlessness. 

Mary  was  the  first  to  observe  her  unusual  demeanor,  and, 
rising,  she  went  to  her  and  took  both  her  hands  firmly  in 
her  own. 

"  Lucy,  what  spirit  has  possession  of  you  to-night  ?  I 
never  saw  you  so  excited  and  uneasy." 

"  I  don't  know,  Mary.  I  think  I  must  feel  as  our  Dolly 
does  when  she  says  she  feels  as  if  some  one  were  walking 
over  her  grave.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  something  were  go- 
ing to  happen.  I  wish  I  were  at  home.  I  am  afraid  some 
one  is  sick  there." 

"  What  nonsense  you  are  talking,  child  !     Your  grand- 


HILLSBORO'   FARMS.  101 

father  was  here  at  noon,  and  every  one  was  well  then. 
What  puts  such  an  idea  into  your  head  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  perhaps ;  only  this  is  just  the  time  when 
something  is  sure  to  happen,  when  no  doctor  could  reach 
them.  Just  listen  to  the  storm,  Mary.  O,  I  wish  grandpa 
were  here." 

"  That  is  just  like  Lucy,"  cried  Lydia,  laughing ;  "  she 
thinks  grandpa  can  take  care  of  her  through  everything. 
I  can  remember  —  and  it  was  not  so  very  long  ago,  either 
—  when  she  used  to  get  on  his  knee  if  it  thundered." 

Lucy  blushed  a  little  when  they  all  laughed,  but  did  not 
attempt  to  deny  the  charge. 

"  I  think,  Lucy,"  said  Hannah,  "  the  best  thing  you  can 
do  is  to  go  to  bed  and  forget  all  about  it." 

"  It  is  of  no  use  to  go  to  bed,  Hannah ;  I  shall  never  go 
to  sleep." 

"  Pshaw !  yes,  you  will.  Yon  don't  think  of  sitting  up 
all  night  —  do  you  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  cannot  go  up  stairs.  That  chamber  rocks 
like  a  cradle.  Mary,  won't  you  take  Lydia  up  there  with 
you,  and  let  me  sleep  in  the  bedroom  with  Hannah  ?  " 

"  Lucy,  what  a  baby  you  are !  "  exclaimed  Hannah,  but 
in  a  tone  which  showed  she  had  no  idea  of  opposing  her, 
baby  or  not.  Lydia  readily  acceded  to  the  proposed 
change,  and  she  and  Mary  gayly  departed  together. 

When  the  others  were  gone,  Lucy  assisted  Hannah  to 
secure  the  doors  and  windows,  cover  the  fire,  and  make 
everything  safe  for  the  night ;  and  then,  held  fast  in  her 
cousin's  friendly  arms,  her  beautiful  head  nestled  close  to 
that  honest,  kindly  bosom,  she  shut  her  blue  eyes,  and 
soon  her  soft  and  regular  breathing  attested  that  the 
disappointments  and  anxieties  of  the  day  were  forgotten. 


102  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

Sleep  had  fallen  on  all,  and  deep  stillness  reigned 
throughout  the  house ;  but  without  the  storm  raged  with, 
seemingly,  increasing  fury.  The  windows  rattled  in  their 
frames ;  even  the  huge  beams  and  timbers  jarred ;  and  oc- 
casionally, when  a  blast  more  violent  smote  the  walls,  the 
old  house  trembled  to  its  foundations.  Hannah,  undis- 
turbed by  the  wild  fancies  that  had  troubled  her  young 
cousin,  listened  quietly  for  a  time  to  the  elemental  tumult, 
and  then  herself  sank  into  deep  and  tranquil  slumber. 

The  hours  passed  on.  The  clock  had  struck  eleven, 
twelve,  one,  when  Lucy's  first  light  sleep  was  disturbed. 
She  turned  uneasily,  and  murmured  in  her  dreams.  Sud- 
denly she  sprang  up  broad  awake,  and  looked  wildly 
round  her.  She  was  aware  of  some  sound,  loud  and  sud- 
den, apart  from  the  roar  of  the  storm,  which  had  at  once 
and  effectually  aroused  her.  She  listened,  but  could  hear 
nothing  except  the  driving  wind  and  snow.  Startled  and 
terrified,  she  awoke  her  cousin. 

"Hannah!  Hannah!  do  wake  up!  Did  you  hear  that 
noise  ?  and  what  was  it  ?  " 

"  Noise  ?     I  didn't  hear  any  noise.    What  was  it  like  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell.    It  was  something  loud  and  strange." 

"It  was  the  cat,  most  likely.  But,  Lucy  dear,"  she 
added,  taking  the  poor  girl's  trembling  hand,  "  how  ner- 
vous you  are  to-night  I  Lie  still,  child,  and  go  to  sleep." 

"  I  cannot,  Hannah.  O,  how  glad  I  shall  be  when  it  is 
morning !  There !  that  was  the  same  noise  1 " 

"  Why,  Lucy,  that  is  only  the  shutter  of  the  wood-house 
window.  It  has  got  unfastened  in  the  wind." 

"Do  you  think  that  is  all,  Hannah?" 

"  I  know  it  is,  dear.    There  it  goes  again." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  103 

"  I  am  glad  it  is  nothing  more  ;  but  it  did  frighten  me 
dreadfully." 

Lying  down,  she  was  quite  still  for  a  few  minutes,  during 
which  the  offending  shutter  was  several  times  blown  open 
with  a  loud  noise.  Presently  she  again  roused  her  cousin. 

"  Hannah,  can't  I  get  up  and  light  a  candle,  and  hook 
that  shutter  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  can  if  you  wish  to,  Lucy ;  but  I  wouldn't 
get  up  in  the  cold." 

"  I  don't  mind  the  cold ;  but  I  cannot  endure  that  noise ; " 
and,  springing  quickly  from  the  bed,  she  ran  to  the  bureau, 
struck  a  match,  and  lighted  her  candle. 

"  You  had  better  put  on  some  clothes,  Lucy,  for  it  is 
very  cold,  and  you  will  have  to  open  the  window." 

Lucy  pushed  her  feet  into  her  slippers,  threw  on  a  part 
of  her  clothes,  and  pinned  a  small  shawl  over  her  shoulders. 
Passing  through  the  sitting-room  and  kitchen,  she  found 
the  draught  in  the  back  rooms  so  strong  that  it  would  ex- 
tinguish her  candle  if  she  kept  on ;  so  she  placed  the  light 
on  a  window-sill  in  the  kitchen,  while  she  went  out  in  the 
dark  to  execute  her  design.  She  had  some  difficulty  in 
this,  for  the  snow  blinded  her,  and  the  wind  several  times 
blew  the  shutter  out  of  her  hand.  She  succeeded  at  last, 
however,  and,  closing  the  doors  carefully  after  her,  re- 
turned to  the  kitchen,  where  she  had  left  her  candle.  As 
she  raised  it  from  the  window,  she  was  again  startled  to 
hear  a  loud  knocking  at  the  end  door.  But  this  time  she 
was  wide  awake,  and,  obeying  her  first  impulse,  —  that 
of  compassion  for  any  human  being  exposed  on  such  a 
night,  —  she  sprang  to  the  door.  When  she  reached  it, 
she  involuntarily  paused  an  instant,  with  her  hand  on  the 


104  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

latch,  and  asked  who  was  there.  "  For  God's  sake,  open 
the  door,  and  don't  stop  to  ask  questions!"  answered  a 
voice  from  without,  evidently  that  of  a  man. 

Lucy  no  longer  hesitated;  but  her  hands  trembled  so 
violently  that  she  could  scarcely  draw  the  rusty  bolt.  It 
yielded  at  last,  and  she  raised  the  latch.  The  wind  flung 
the  door  forcibly  back,  extinguishing  her  candle  and  cover- 
ing her  with  snow ;  and,  in  the  darkness,  she  could  scarcely 
discern  the  figure  which,  blind  and  staggering,  reeled  into 
the  entry. 

Hannah,  meantime,  had  heard  the  disturbance  at  the 
door,  and,  having  flung  on  her  clothes,  now  appeared  in 
the  sitting-room,  where  there  was  a  faint  light  from  the 
covered  fire.  While  Lucy  exerted  all  her  strength  to  close 
the  door,  Hannah  hastened  to  light  another  candle  and 
open  the  fire.  As  the  light  flashed  through  the  room,  she 
at  once  perceived  that  the  person  who  advanced  to  the 
fireplace,  and  deposited  the  burden  he  carried  upon  the 
warm  hearth,  was  an  entire  stranger.  Kneeling  beside  the 
bundle,  the  man  quickly  unrolled  from  what  seemed  to 
be  a  horse-blanket,  a  child  —  a  little  boy,  apparently  eight 
or  nine  years  old,  whose  tattered  garments,  and  unstock- 
inged  feet  protruding  through  his  worn  shoes,  showed  how 
poorly  he  was  prepared  to  brave  the  horrors  of  such  a 
night. 

Hannah  soon  had  a  blazing  fire,  and  then,  while  Lucy 
applied  herself  to  restoring  the  almost  frozen  child,  she 
procured  a  lantern,  and  gave  the  man  directions  for  se- 
curing the  comfort  of  his  horse,  which  was  still  exposed  to 
the  fury  of  the  storm.  Then  she  prepared  hot  water  and 
cordials,  and,  leaving  the  boy  in  Lucy's  care,  busied  her- 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  105 

self  with  concocting  a  steaming  bowl  of  hot  ginger  tea 
for  the  elder  traveller.  By  the  time  it  was  ready  the  man 
returned,  and,  taking  off  his  overcoat,  —  for  he  was  better 
protected  than  his  little  companion,  —  he  seated  himself  by 
the  glowing  fire.  He  seemed  stiff  and  dull  with  cold,  and 
accepted  almost  in  silence  Hannah's  revivifying  draught, 
watching,  meanwhile,  the  movements  of  Lucy,  who,  kneel- 
ing beside  the  boy,  chafed  his  little  brown,  dirty  hands  in 
her  own  soft  and  warm  ones,  or  urged  him  to  taste  the 
brandy  she  held  to  his  lips.  After  a  time  these  efforts  had 
the  effect  of  restoring  the  benumbed  and  frozen  child  to 
consciousness.  Lucy  raised  him  on  her  arm,  and  he  looked 
about  the  room.  The  elder  stranger  smiled  a  little,  and, 
stretching  his  feet  towards  the  bright  fire,  said,  with  no 
great  amount  of  parental  feeling,  Lucy  thought,  — 

"  Well,  youngster,  J  am  rather  glad  to  see  you  open  your 
eyes.  I  began  to  think  we  had  parted  company  for  this 
life." 

The  boy  glanced,  with  bright,  quick  eyes,  at  the  man, 
with  something  of  the  look  which  a  favorite  dog  might 
have  worn,  but  said  nothing. 

To  Hannah's  simple  hospitality,  curiosity  respecting  her 
guests  was  unthought  of.  On  these  quiet  country  roads, 
where  public  houses  are  few  and  far  between,  strangers 
come  and  go  at  the  scattered  farms  as  a  matter  of  course, 
exciting  little  interest  and  no  surprise.  Belated  wayfarers 
so  often  sought  the  shelter  of  her  father's  roof  that  their 
coming  awakened  no  wonder  or  surmise. 

"When  the  boy  had  been  induced  to  swallow  jjumerous 
hot  cordials,  —  each  an  infallible  specific  in  such  cases, — 
the  settee  was  drawn  in  front  of  the  fire,  mid,  rolled  in  hot 


106  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

blankets,  he  was  placed  upon  it,  Hannah  declaring  that  it 
would  be  the  height  of  imprudence  to  take  him  away  from 
the  fire  until  much  better.  A  whispered  consultation  then 
ensued  between  the  cousins  as  to  what  should  be  done 
with  the  man.  It  was  finally  decided  to  give  him  a  small 
bedroom  over  the  wood-house,  where  the  hired  man  usually 
slept;  Hannah  remarking,  to  end  the  conference, — 

"  I  can't  be  at  the  trouble  of  making  up  another  bed  at 
this  time  of  night ;  and  that  is  perfectly  comfortable  — 
better  than  he  is  used  to,  I  dare  say.  Besides,  nobody 
knows  who  he  is  or  where  he  comes  from.  Just  as  well 
to  have  him  up  there  out  of  the  way." 

When  the  stranger  had  sufficiently  warmed  and  re- 
freshed himself,  Hannah  lighted  him  up  the  narrow  back 
staircase,  saying,  ^as  she  pushed  open  the  door  and  gave 
him  the  candle,  — 

"  I  hope  you  will  find  the  bed  all  right.  If  you  think 
there  are  not  clothes  enough,  there  are  two  more  blankets 
on  that  chest;  you  can  throw  them  on.  This  is  all  the 
bed  we  have  in  order  to-night ;  so  I  hope  you  will  excuse  it." 

The  man  expressed  his  entire  satisfaction  with  the  room 
and  the  bed,  apparently  only  too  glad  to  be  safe  from  the 
storm,  and  not  in  the  least  inclined  to  be  fastidious.  In- 
deed, as  everything  about  the  room,  though  coarse,  was 
scrupulously  neat,  and  the  thick  blankets  and  ample  pil- 
lows promised  warmth  and  comfort,  he  could  well  afford 
to  be  satisfied. 

Returning  to  the  sitting-room,  Hannah  found  Lucy 
watching  the  already  sleeping  child. 

"  Isn't  it  dreadful,  Hannah,"  she  whispered,  "  to  think  of 
this  poor  little  thing  exposed  on  such  a  night?" 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  107 

"It  is,  sure  enough.  I  believe  I  never  saw  a  child  so 
poorly  clothed  in  winter.  His  father  was  better  dressed, 
and,  though  he  didn't  seem  very  tender,  he  appeared  to 
take  pretty  good  care  of  his  boy.  But,  Lucy,  we  must  fix 
up  the  fire,  and  go  to  bed.  It  will  be  morning  before  we 
know  it." 

All  Lucy's  restlessness  seemed  to  have  vanished.  No 
sooner  was  her  head  again  on  the  pillow,  than  she  was 
overtaken  by  sleep,  which  held  her  fast  until  a  late  hour 
of  the  morning. 


108  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 


CHAPTER  X. 

WHEN  Lucy  opened  her  eyes  in  the  morning,  she  saw 
that  the  storm  still  continued  with  unabated  violence. 
Hannah  was  gone  from  her  side,  and  the  gray  light  gave 
her  no  idea  of  the  hour ;  so,  thinking  it  must  be  still  early, 
she  was  just  smoothing  her  pillow  for  another  nap,  when 
the  clock  in  the  adjoining  room  struck  nine.  When  she 
had  finished  dressing,  and  was  leaving  the  bedroom,  she 
met  Mary  and  Lydia,  who,  as  lazy  as  herself,  were  just 
coming  down  stairs.  They  stood  by  the  sitting-room  fire, 
talking  over  the  storm  and  the  advent  of  the  two  stran- 
gers, till  Hannah  came  to  call  them  to  breakfast.  Lydia 
asked  where  Heman  was. 

"O,  he  and  the  master  had  their  breakfast  long  ago, 
and  are  gone." 

"  Where  is  the  use  of  going  to  school  in  such  weather  as 
this?  There  will  be  no  scholars." 

"  Yes ;  some  of  the  largest  boys  who  live  near  will  be 
there.  They  go  as  much  for  fun  as  anything ;  and  the 
drifts  are  so  hard  they  can  almost  walk  over  them." 

"  Where  is  that  man  who  came  in  the  night  ?  " 

"  He  has  just  come  down,  and  is  sitting  by  the  kitchen 
fire  with  his  little  boy." 

"  What  does  he  look  like  ?  "  asked  Mary. 

"  O,  I  don't  know.    I  rather  think  he  is  a  pedler,  or 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  109 

agent  for  something,  —  a  book  agent,  likely  enough.  They 
come  along  quite  often.  He  has  a  valise,  and  they  gener- 
ally carry  one." 

"And,  as  the  storm  continues,  he  must  stay  all  day,  I 
suppose." 

"Hush,  Mary.  Lydia  has  left  the  door  open,  and  I  am 
afraid  he  will  hear  you.  Come  out  directly  —  won't  you  ?  " 

The  morning  meal  at  the  Pages'  was  usually  spread  in 
the  large,  cheery  kitchen,  and  thither  the  two  friends  pres- 
ently proceeded.  They  found  Hannah,  Lydia,  and  the 
stranger  already  seated  at  the  table.  Mary  bowed  silently, 
and  sat  down  by  Lydia.  Lucy  bade  the  stranger  a  civil 
good  morning,  adding,  — 

"  The  storm,  you  see,  sir,  is  as  wild  as  ever." 

"  Wilder,  I  believe.  I  have  just  been  blessing  the  great 
good  fortune  which  has  brought  me  to  such  a  shelter." 

It  was  the  first  time  Mary  had  heard  the  voice  of  the 
stranger,  and  she  looked  up  at  him  in  surprise.  The  words 
were  nothing;  but  the  tones  had  instantly  struck  her 
trained  ear,  —  clear,  polished,  and  perfectly  modulated, 
every  syllable  falling  as  if  carved  in  ivory,  yet  with  that 
complete  absence  of  effort  which  belongs  to  the  most  per- 
fect culture.  He  was  talking  busily  now  with  Hannah, 
and  she  took  advantage  of  the  fact  to  scan  him  closely. 

He  was  apparently  about  thirty,  or  a  little  less ;  a  tall 
man,  with  magnificent  chest  and  shoulders,  and  clean, 
shapely  limbs,  tapering  to  strong,  white  hands  and  hand- 
some feet.  His  complexion  had,  perhaps,  once  been  fair, 
and  the  red  blood  still  showed  warm  through  the  brown 
with  which  wind  and  sun  had  overlaid  it.  The  features 
were  clear  cut  and  bold ;  the  lower  part  of  the  face  cov- 


110  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

ered  with  a  close,  curling  beard,  of  a  warm  dark-brown ; 
and  hair  of  the  same  color  clustered  thickly  about  his  tem- 
ples. His  eyes  were  large,  and  the  color  of  a  ripe  chest- 
nut, alert,  keen,  and  penetrating,  with  a  shifting  expression, 
which  now  was  mirthful  and  mocking,  and  now  grave 
almost  to  melancholy.  It  was  a  face  which,  by  careless 
observers,  would  have  been  pronounced  singularly  frank 
and  open ;  but  Mary  was  not  a  careless  observer,  and  her 
quick  eye  did  not  fail  to  discover  in  it  traces  of  the  habit 
learned  among  men,  —  the  habit  that  draws  between  the 
interior  man  and  the  world  the  close  veil  of  a  reserve 
which  is  not  the  less  impenetrable  because  it  is  so  fine  as 
to  be  nearly  impalpable.  For  the  rest,  book  agent  or  ped- 
ler  he  might  now  be ;  but  in  his  conversation  there  were 
observable  certain  turns  of  thought  and  language  seldom 
acquired  but  in  the  polite  world ;  and  in  his  frank,  unstud- 
ied manners,  was  apparent  not  only  the  perfection  of  ac- 
quired polish,  but  that  fine,  nameless  something  which 
almost  to  a  certainty  indicates  good  blood  and  gentle  ante- 
cedents. 

Mary  had  been  so  occupied  with  the  observations  she 
was  making,  that  she  paid  little  heed  to  what  the  others 
were  saying.  Her  attention  was  recalled  by  Hannah. 

"  Mary,"  she  said,  "  will  you  please  pass  the  sugar  to 
Mr.  —  She  hesitated,  a  little  confused. 

"  Stafford  —  allow  me  to  prompt  you,"  said  the  stranger, 
turning  to  her  with  a  smile.  "  The  truth  is,"  he  continued, 
"  you  made  me  feel  so  entirely  at  home,  that  I  forgot  I  was 
really  a  stranger." 

A  general  laughing  introduction  followed,  and  they 
began  to  get  very  well  acquainted.  Of  course,  the  ex- 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  Ill 

traordinary  weather  came  in  for  its  share  of  the  discus- 
sion. 

"Are  such  storms  common  among  these  hills?"  the 
stranger  asked,  addressing  Hannah. 

"  Not  very  common,  so  severe  as  this.  We  seldom  pass 
a  winter,  though,  without  one  bad,  drifting  storm.  Did 
you  find  much  difficulty  in  getting  along  before  dark  ?  " 

"None  whatever;  and  my  horse  kept  the  track  very 
well  for  some  time  into  the  evening.  I  should  have 
stopped,  but  really  there  was  no  place  to  go  to.  I  drove 
for  miles  without  passing  a  human  habitation ;  and  as  I 
knew  what  was  behind  me,  and  nothing  was  to  be  gained 
by  turning  back,  I  kept  on." 

"  What  road  were  you  travelling  ?  " 

"  I  came  from  a  town  called  Kiffton.  It  is  a  railway  ter- 
minus, and,  they  told  me,  distant  thirty  miles,  or  there- 
abouts, from  Edgehill,  whither  I  was  bound." 

"Then  you  must  have  come  through  the  Notch.  Of 
course  you  didn't  pass  any  houses,  for  there  are  none. 
But  after  you  passed  the  cross-roads,  you  came  by  several 
before  you  got  to  ours." 

"I  knew  nothing  of  them,  the  darkness  was  so  great; 
and  although  I  shouted  again  and  again,  I  could  raise  no 
one,  the  storm  so  drowned  my  voice.  At  last  my  horse 
refused  to  be  driven  another  step ;  and  so,  rolling  the  cub 
there  in  the  robes,  and  stowing  him  safely  under  the  seat, 
I  walked,  and  led  my  horse  by  the  bridle,  thinking  I  might, 
perhaps,  see  some  sign  of  life,  and  knowing  I  could  give  it 
up,  and  lie  down  in  the  snow  at  one  time  as  well  as  another. 
You  look  horrified,  young  lady;  but  danger  and  I  have 
shaken  hands  too  often  to  make  such  an  alternative  any 


112  HILLSBORO'    PAEMS. 

longer  startling.  Not  that  it  was  by  any  means  an  attrac- 
tive one,  however ;  for  I  will  confess,  that,  with  all  my  res- 
ignation, the  sight  of  your  candle,  glimmering  faintly 
through  the  storm,  was  more  welcome  than  I  can  tell.  I 
had  not  before  seen  the  house,  though  so  near  it." 

"  How  fortunate  it  was,  Hannah,  that  I  got  up  to  hook 
that  noisy  shutter ! " 

"  Fortunate  enough ;  for  I  don't  believe,  sir,  your  little 
boy  could  have  stood  it  much,  longer." 

"  My  little  boy !  I  hope,  Miss  Page,  you  do  not  think 
that  little  whelp  belongs  to  me ! " 

"  "Why,  I  thought  so,  of  course." 

«  Not  on  account  of  any  personal  resemblance,  I  trust," 
he  exclaimed,  with  a  merry  glance  at  the  child,  who, 
wrapped  in  a  faded  woollen  shawl,  sat  in  a  small  arm-chair 
by  the  fire. 

"  Well,  no ;  I  won't  say  I  did  think  of  that ;  but  you 
had  him  with  you,  and  I  took  it  for  granted  he  was  your 
child." 

"  Such  is  the  reward  of  good  nature !  But  this  is  the 
way  I  came  by  him :  Early  yesterday  afternoon,  when  I 
was  a  few  miles  from  Kiffton,  I  suddenly  came  upon  that 
little  imp,  standing  with  his  bare  ankles  plunged  in  the 
snow  beside  the  road.  He  demanded,  in  good  highway- 
man fashion,  a  seat  in  my  sleigh ;  and  my  compliance  de- 
noted a  degree  of  weakness  for  which  I  blush.  I  ran  the 
risk  of  infection  from  every  known  disease,  and  some  that 
are  unknown.  He  informed  me  that  his  mother  had  died 
the  week  before,  and  that  he  had  been  sent  to  the  poor- 
house,  from  which  he  had  just  made  his  escape.  As  he  gave 
me  no  trouble  whatever,  I  allowed  him  to  come  along.  Of 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  110 

course  you  will  perceive  that  I  could  not  have  foreseen 
such  a  contingency  as  being  mistaken  for  his  father.  If  it 
had  occurred  to  me,  I  presume  I  should  have  left  him  to 
his  fate." 

Mary  laughed ;  but  Lucy  was  shocked,  and  answered, 
with  some  degree  of  spirit, — 

"  I  think  there  are  worse  impressions  that  might  prevail." 
"Hardly,  young  lady,"  he  answered,  glancing  at  her 
with  a  sudden  sparkle  of  mischief  in  his  eyes.    "I  can 
really  conceive  of  nothing  worse." 

Mary  here  interrupted  with  some  remark,  and  they  be- 
gan to  talk  of  Edgehill,  which  the  stranger  had  mentioned 
as  his  destination.  Pie  asked  a  question  or  two  regarding 
the  distance. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Mary ;  "  I  understood  that  you  lived 
in  Edgehill." 

"  O,  no ;  I  am  an  entire  stranger.    Do  you  know  any- 
thing of  the  place  or  people  ?  " 
"  Very  little,  indeed." 

"  Do  you  chance  to  know  a  family  named  Gore  ?  " 
"No  —  yet,  on  second  thought,  the  name  sounds  famil- 
iar.   Lucy,  did  I  not  see  a  gentleman  of  that  name  at  your 
father's  last  summer  ?  " 

"Yes;  Mr.  John  Gore.     He  comes  there  frequently." 
"That  is  the  person.    Do  you  know  his  family? " 
"  He  has  no  family  ;  he  has  never  married." 
"  Indeed !  and  he  must  be  past  the  age  when  men  arc 
usually  tempted  to  matrimony." 

"  I  should  think  so ;  he  is  nearly  as  old  as  my  grandfa- 
ther. But  he  is  a  very  pleasant  man,  and  has  a  beautiful 
1  u>  use." 

8 


114  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

"  I  am  happy  to  hear  it,  since  it  is  to  that  house  I  am 
bound ;  but  the  prospect  of  getting  there  does  not  look 
very  flattering,"  the  stranger  said,  as  they  rose  from  the 
table. 

Hannah  conducted  her  guest  to  the  sitting-room,  stirred 
the  fire,  and  returned  to  the  kitchen,  where  the  girls  still 
remained. 

"Isn't  he  the  strangest  man  you  ever  saw,  Mary?"  asked 
Lucy,  when  they  were  alone. 

"  He  is  rather  odd,  perhaps ;  but,  Hannah,  he  is  not  a 
pedler,  you  may  be  sure." 

"What  do  you  think  he  is?" 

"  That  is  more  than  I  could  possibly  guess.  He  is  a  gen- 
tleman, however." 

"  I  never  said  he  wasn't." 

"I  know  —  but  we  do  not  mean  quite  the  same  thing. 
You  mean  a  gentleman-like  person ;  and  I  mean  —  well  — 
I  mean  a  gentleman.  But  what  is  this  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  overcoat  the  man  wore ;  all  those  things  are 
his." 

The  coat  was  of  shaggy  but  soft  gray  cloth,  and  had  a 
full  lining  and  collar  of  rich,  dark  fur.  A  heavy  travelling 
shawl  and  sable  cap  lay  beside  it.  Mary  had  noticed  the 
dress  of  the  stranger  at  breakfast  —  a  uniform  suit  of  gray, 
gracefully  worn,  though  of  coarse  fabric,  chosen  plainly 
rather  for  warmth  and  comfort  than  with  any  regard  to 
appearances. 

"  I  wonder  who  he  is,"  she  said  to  Lucy.    "  Don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  care  particularly.  I  do  not  think  I 
like  him  very  well ;  do  you,  Mary  ?  " 

"Yes,  rather." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  115 

"  But  didn't  he  strike  you  as  a  little  —  not  exactly  cal- 
lous, or  heartless,  but  rather  unfeeling?" 

"  Not  in  anything  he  said  or  did,  certainly." 

"How  could  he  make  fun  of  that  poor  boy?" 

"He  had  just  done  enough  to  prove  himself  not  unfeel- 
ing towards  the  child.  Understand  me,  though  —  I  do  not 
mean  that  he  may  or  may  not  be  all  you  say,  and  more ; 
there  is  no  judging  on  first  acquaintance  with  people  like 
him.  "We  should  be  a  long  time,  I  suspect,  in  getting  at  his 
real  sentiments,  let  them  be  good  or  bad.  But  I  rather  like 
him  —  he  promises  to  be  amusing."  And  Mary  took  up 
the  basket  of  beans  that  were  to  be  picked  over  for  Satur- 
day's baking,  and  went  into  the  sitting-room,  as  she  said, 
to  be  entertained  by  the  stranger. 

She  found  hinl  sitting  by  the  hearth,  gazing,  with  a 
somewhat  moody  abstraction,  into  the  fire.  He  rose  as 
she  entered,  his  face  clearing  instantly,  placed  a  chair  for 
her,  and  helped  her  to  draw  up  the  work-stand ;  then,  as 
she  placed  her  basket  on  it  and  began  her  work,  he  stood 
watching  her  very  attentively  for  a  few  minutes.  Pres- 
ently he  drew  his  own  chair  to  the  other  side  of  the  table, 
and  took  up  a  handful  of  the  beans. 

"It  is  hardly  fair,"  he  said,  "that  I  should  be  the  only 
idle  one  in  the  house  this  morning." 

"I  beg  you  will  not  let  any  idea  of  that  kind  induce  you 
to  offer  me  assistance." 

"  I  will  acknowledge  that  I  have  another  motive.  I  am 
so  heartily  tired  of  myself  just  now,  that  any  employment 
would  be  a  relief." 

"In  that  case  I  shall  accept  your  help,  and  thereby  serve 
two  ends  —  confer  a  benefit,  and  oblige  myself." 


116  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  That  last  clause  contained  the  secret  of  a  great  deal 
of  philanthropy." 

"You  think  so?" 

"Do  not  you?" 

"I  hardly  know.  I  like  to  believe  all  things  perfect 
until  proved  the  reverse." 

"Does  the  disposition  arise  from  a  trusting  temper,  or  a 
fancy  for  pretty  illusions  ?  " 

"From  the  last,  probably.  But  what  would  the  world 
be  without  what  you  term  pretty  illusions  ?  Some  always 
believe  them,  and  the  rest  must  pretend  to." 

" Certainly-^ we  only  differ  in  one  respect;  your  pre- 
tence goes  a  little  farther  than  mine.  I  say  I  believe,  and 
thus  discharge  my  duty  to  society;  you  say  so,  and  try  to 
convince  yourself  that  it  is  true."  * 

"  According  to  your  reasoning,  I  am  not  so  consistent  as 
yourself.  But  I  am  ready  to  admit  it ;  I  have  a  horror  of 
a  perfectly  consistent  person." 

The  stranger  was  quick  enough  to  detect  the  slight 
shade  of  bitterness  hidden  under  Mary's  words,  and  he 
hastened  to  change  the  conversation. 

The  two  younger  girls  remained  to  assist  Hannah  in  the 
kitchen.  As  Mary,  bearing  her  basket  of  beans,  disap- 
peared through  the  door,  Hannah  said, — 

"  Now,  girls,  if  you  will  get  the  things  ready  for  me  to 
begin  my  baking,  I  will  take  this  boy  in  hand." 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  him?" 

"  I  am  going  to  have  him  in  a  tub  of  warm  water  for  the 
first  thing.  Do  you  suppose  I  will  have  such  a  dirty  child 
round  my  house  all  day,  and  then  sleep  in  one  of  my  beds 
come  night  ?  " 


HILLSBORO'   FARMS.  117 

The  boy,  who  had  made  a  very  hearty  breakfast,  watched 
Hannah  in  attentive  silence  as  she  produced  a  tub  of  warm 
water,  crash  towels,  and  soap.  When  all  was  ready,  she 
introduced  the  little  wanderer  to  their  acquaintance,  and, 
with  strict  injunctions  to  thoroughness  and  fidelity,  left 
him  to  his  ablutions,  while  she  went  in  search  of  some 
clothes.  By  the  time  the  bath  was  finished,  she  had  ready 
a  sometime  outgrown  shirt  of  Heman's,  —  it  was  too  large 
for  the  child,  and  the  sleeves  hung  bagging  about. the 
wrists,  but  it  was  snowy  w^hite, —  and  a  pair  of  pantaloons, 
once  the  property  of  the  same  youth,  made  shorter  by  be- 
ing rolled  up  around  the  ankles.  Warm  stockings,  and  a 
pair  of  shoes  of  Lydia's,  which  could  only  be  kept  on  by 
scuffing  his  feet,  and  a  blue  cloth  sack  belonging  to  Lucy, 
completed  his  costume. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  child  was  apparently  eight  or 
nine  years  of  age.  Judging  from  his  size,  he  might  have 
been ;  but  his  face  showed  him  to  be  several  years  older — 
fourteen,  at  least.  He  had  thin,  sharp  features,  a  sallow  com- 
plexion, and  small,  bright  eyes,  intensely  black.  Hardship 
and  ill-usage  had  dwarfed  his  figure,  and  his  mind  too,  it 
seemed,  for  there  appeared  to  be  some  mental  want ;  it  was 
hard  to  tell  precisely  what.  The  little  vacant  face  told 
plainly  enough  in  what  a  night  of  ignorance  his  brief  years 
had  been  passed ;  yet  there  was  in  it  a  great  deal  of  a  kind 
of  semi-human  intelligence,  a  curious,  precocious  cunning, 
such  as  is  often  seen  in  the  faces  of  small  animals. 

Lxicy  brought  a  comb,  and  tried  to  smooth  his  matted 
and  tangled  hair.  It  was  a  task  of  no  slight  difficulty;  and 
credit  was  due  the  child  that  he  bore  the  operation  with- 
out flinching.  Clearly,  it  was  not  often  that  gentle  hands 


118  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

had  performed  that  office  for  him.  When  it  was  finished, 
she  took  his  small  brown  hand  and  led  him  to  the  sitting- 

O 

-room.  On  entering,  he  seemed  quite  overcome,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  perhaps,  by  something  which,  if  not 
bashfulness,  was  the  nearest  approach  to  the  feeling  of 
which  he  was  capable,  and  was  possibly  caused  by  the  nov- 
elty of  clean  face  and  apparel.  He  held  firmly  to  the  little 
hand  that  led  him,  and  drew  Lucy's  skirt  about  his  person 
as  if  to  shield  himself  from  observation.  As  they  came 
near  the  fire,  Lucy  gently  drew  her  gown  from  his  grasp, 
and  laying  her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  turned  him  towards 
Mary,  blushing  herself  a  little  under  the  steady  gaze  of  the 
stranger. 

"Look,  Mary,"  she  said,  "and  see  if  Plannah  cannot 
work  wonders." 

"  Miracles !  Do  you  recognize  your  protege,  Mr.  Staf- 
ford?" 

"Not  in  the  least;  he  has  suffered  a  sea-change,"  replied 
the  gentleman,  turning  round  to  look  at  him,  his  hand  ar- 
rested in  the  act  of  throwing  a  handful  of  beans  into  Ma- 
ry's basket.  "  But  what  is  your  name,  youngster  ?  I  have 
never  thought  to  ask  before." 

"  Tate,"  answered  the  boy,  looking  straight  in  his  ques- 
tioner's face. 

"  Is  that  all  the  name  you  have  ?  " 

The  boy  nodded  his  head  with  a  jerk,  but  did  not  move 
his  eyes. 

"  What  was  your  mother's  name  ?  " 

"  Never  had  no  mother." 

"Indeed  !  But  you  told  me  your  mother  died  a  week 
since." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  119 

«  No,  I  didn't." 

"  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  state  what  you  did  say  ?  " 
the  other  continued,  with  an  air  of  grave  and  ceremonious 
politeness. 

"  I  said  mammy  was  dead,  but  she  warn't  my  mother." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  She  said  I's  no  child  o'  hern." 

"Did  she  happen  to  mention  whose  child  you  were?" 

"  Al'ays  said  I's  the  devil's  own." 

"My  dear  child,  she  was  probably  correct.  What  do 
you  mean  to  do  with  yourself?" 

"  Mean  to  stay  with  you." 

"  That  resolve,  formed  on  so  short  an  acquaintance,  is 
very  flattering  to  my  vanity ;  but,  really,  I  do  not  deserve 
such  a  mark  of  esteem.  I  think  I  shall  take  you  back  to 
Kiffton." 

"  'Twon't  do  no  good ;  I  never'll  stay  there,"  responded 
the  imp,  with  a  grin. 

"Lucy,"  said  Miss  Elliot,  as  the  gentleman  paused  in 
his  questions  and  resumed  his  occupation,  "  don't  you  think 
we  might  find,  among  Hannah's  stores,  a  jacket,  or  some- 
thing of  which  we  might  make  one?" 

"  I  dare  say  we  could ;  and  if  you  are  done  with  these,  I 
will  take  them  out  to  Hannah,  and  ask  her  about  it." 

"  Yes ;  thanks  to  Mr.  Stafford,  they  are  all  ready.  I 
will  go  up  stairs  and  get  my  work-basket  while  you  are 
gone;"  and,  shaking  the  scattered  beans  from  her  little 
black  silk  apron,  she  left  the  room.  Lucy  lingered  long 
enough  to  brush  up  the  hearth,  and  find  a  picture-book  for 
the  boy,  and  then  she  too  went  out. 

They  presently  returned,  Mary  bearing  the  implements 


120  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

for  sewing,  and  Lucy  an  armful  of  old  clothes,  from  which 
their  ingenuity  was  to  fashion  a  jacket  for  the  little  out- 
cast. Lucy  also  brought  a  number  of  newspapers,  which 
she  gave  to  the  stranger,  remarking,  — 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  look  at  yesterday's  pa- 
pers, sir." 

"  Where  did  you  get  those,  Lucy  ?  "  asked  Mary,  as  the 
stranger  took  them,  with  thanks.  "  No  one  went  to  the 
post-office  yesterday." 

"  No ;  grandpa  left  them  here  by  mistake.  How  he  will 
want  them  through  this  storm ! " 

"  He  will,  indeed ;  and  there  is  no  one  to  play  piquet 
with  him.  Do  you  think  we  could  get  up  there  this  after- 
noon, if  the  storm  abates  ?  " 

"  It  is  plain,  Mary,  you  know  nothing  of  the  drifts  be- 
tween here  and  there,  or  you  would  not  ask  such  a  ques- 
tion. This  is  Saturday,  and  I  have  no  idea  a  sleigh  will 
go  over  this  hill  before  Monday  afternoon." 

"My  dear  young  lady,  are  you  serious?"  asked  the 
stranger,  quickly,  looking  up  from  his  paper. 

"  Perfectly  serious.  Perhaps  by  Monday  morning  they 
will  clear  a  road  that  will  be  passable ;  but  I  doubt  it." 

"  I  hope,  Mr.  Stafford,  your  business  admits  of  delay ;  for 
it  is  plain  you  must  wait,"  said  Mary.  "  As  well  resign 
yourself  with  what  patience  you  can." 

"  It  is  not  a  matter  in  which  my  patience  is  so  much 
concerned  as  that  of  my  kind  hostess." 

"Then  give  yourself  no  further  uneasiness,  I  entreat. 
There  is  no  call  for  any." 

The  girls  were  already  seated  at  their  work,  and  busily 
plied  the  needle  and  scissors,  while  the  stranger  read  his 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  121 

papers,  glancing  up  now  and  then  to  address  or  to  admire 
his  companions,  so  attractive,  yet  so  different.  They  were, 
indeed,  in  striking  contrast.  Mary,  in  her  plain  print 
morning-gown  and  black  apron,  a  net  of  scarlet  silk  con- 
fining the  dark  hair  which,  smooth  as  satin,  marked  her 
pale  cheek  and  slightly  shaded  her  slender  neck,  looked 
really  elegant,  in  spite  of  the  simplicity  of  her  attire ;  while 
Lucy,  whose  dress  was  much  the  same  in  outline,  yet  want- 
ing in  the  grace  and  niceness  of  detail  which  distinguished 
everything  worn  by  her  friend,  had  no  air  at  all.  She  was 
simply  a  neatly-dressed  girl.  She  was  so  lovely  that  she 
could  well  be  forgiven  her  ignorance  of  some  of  the  secrets 
of  the  toilet;  yet  to  the  eyes  now  scanning  the  friends 
over  the  margin  of  the  "  Colchester  Inquirer,"  the  beauty 
stamped  with  the  seal  of  fashion  and  society  was  more 
really  attractive  than  the  fresh  loveliness  of  the  rustic 
belle. 

The  short  forenoon  slipped  rapidly  away,  and,  as  they 
were  seating  themselves  round  the  fire  after  dinner,  the 
stranger  said,  addressing  himself  to  Hannah, — 

"  Is  there  no  way  in  which  you  can  make  me  either  use- 
ful or  agreeable  ?  If  I  were  to  offer  my  services  to  the 
young  ladies,  I  fear  they  would  not  trust  me  with  either 
thimble  or  scissors." 

"  Girls,"  said  Hannah,  "  how  is  it  ?  Can't  you  find  some- 
thing for  him  to  do  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mary.  "  He  may  first  hold  this  skein 
of  silk  for  me,  and  then,  if  the  mood  still  holds,  he  may 
read  to  us." 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure,"  taking  the  thread  on  his 
handsome  hands;  "  and,  for  the  second  clause,  shall  I  give 


122  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

you  the  contents  of  these  ?  "  motioning  towards  the  news- 
papers. 

"I  think  not.  Lucy,  where  can  we  find  a  book?  for  we 
cannot  let  this  opportunity  pass  unimproved." 

"  If  the  master  were  here,"  said  Hannah,  "  he  would  find 
you  something." 

"  But  he  is  not  here,  and  will  not  be  for  several  hours. 
What  are  those  books  in  the  closet  in  our  room,  Lucy  ?  " 

"  They  are  some  old  books  that  belonged  to  cousin  Wil- 
liam. I  do  not  believe  there  is  anything  there  we  should 
like." 

"  Lydia  might  bring  them  down,"  said  Hannah,  "  and 
you  could  look  them  over.  Run,  Lydia,  and  see  what  you 
can  find." 

Lydia,  obeying,  soon  reappeared  with  about  a  dozen  old 
volumes  in  her  arms.  There  were  several  school-books, 
one  or  two  volumes  of  sermons,  a  copy  of  "  The  Pleasures 
of  Hope,"  a  torn  book  of  travels,  and  an  old  dog-eared 
volume  without  covers,  which,  on  examination,  proved  to 
be  the  "  Tales  of  the  Crusaders." 

"Ah,  here  is  a  treasure  for  a  stormy  day!"  cried  Mary, 
turning  over  the  yellow  leaves,  and  opening  at  "  The  Tal- 
isman." "  Lucy,  you  must  allow  me  to  choose,  if  you  have 
never  read  these.  You  never  have?  Then  to-day  you 
shall  know  Coaur  de  Lion  and  the  matchless  Saladin." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  123 


CHAPTER  XI. 

MR.  STAFFORD  took  the  book,  the  little  bustle  of  prep- 
aration subsided,  and,  leaning  back  in  his  easy,  cushioned 
chair,  beside  the  bright,  warm  blaze,  he  began  to  read. 
His  voice  was  singularly  rich  and  mellow,  with  great  flex- 
ibility and  compass.  It  gave  to  his  commonest  conversa- 
tion something  fascinating,  and  hinted  what  the  charm  of 
his  tones  might  be  when  inspired  by  deeper  feeling.  His 
reading  could  hardly  be  otherwise  than  delightful ;  and  his 
listeners  soon  became  so  absorbed  as  quite  to  forget  sur- 
rounding scenes.  As  the  brilliant  pageant  of  kings,  and 
knights,  and  armies,  evoked  by  the  hand  of  the  great  ma- 
gician, defiled  before  them,  the  low  farm-house  walls  ex- 
panded, and,  stretching  far  away,  disclosed  those  burning 
plains  where  Richard  of  the  Lion  Heart  fought  for  the 
Holy  Sepulchre.  Groaning  orchard  boughs  gave  place  to 
groves  of  stately  palms ;  and,  though  the  storm  still  raged 
without,  they  saw  only  the  intense  glow  of  the  hot  Syrian 
sun.  The  king,  the  soldan,  and  the  knight  lived  and 
breathed  before  them. 

Lucy  listened  with  a  deep  and  entire  delight.  The  world 
of  fictitious  literature  was  new  to  her.  In  history,  travels, 
and  biography,  she  was  very  well  read,  those  being  the 
books  from  which  it  had  been  her  habit  to  read  for  her 
grandfather's  pleasure ;  but  at  the  rich  fount  of  poetry  and 


124  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

romance  her  lips  had  drunk  but  sparingly.  Hour  after 
hour  went  by  unheeded  by  her  now,  in  her  fascinated  en- 
joyment of  the  book.  Indeed,  the  whole  party  had  become 
so  absorbed  that  they  took  little  note  of  the  flight  of  time ; 
and  they  were  all  surprised  when,  during  a  slight  pause 
made  by  the  reader,  Hannah,  looking  up  at  the  clock,  ex- 
claimed, — 

"  Bless  my  soul !  it  is  almost  five !  —  time  for  the  mas- 
ter and  Heman  this  minute.  I  declare,  I  got  so  interested 
I  forgot  about  supper  and  everything  else.  Come,  Lydia, 
come  right  along  and  help  me." 

Mr.  Stafford  laid  down  the  book,  and,  rising,  walked 
round  the  table  to  see  what  success  the  girls  were  having 
in  their  work. 

"  We  make  but  indifferent  progress,"  said  Mary.  "  I  am 
a  poor  tailor,  and  Lucy  is  a  worse.  Do  you  think  this 
garment  will,  by  any  effort  of  the  imagination,  pass  for  a 
jacket?" 

"  Indeed,  it  wears  a  very  promising  look ;  and  you  may 
be  sure  the  boy  will  not  be  fastidious." 

"  I  should  hope  it  may  be  right,"  said  Lucy,  "  for  I  have 
pricked  my  fingers  to  the  bone.  Let  me  put  it  all  away 
now,  Mary :  it  is  too  dark  to  see." 

"  That  is,  you  want  a  pretext  to  be  idle.  Well,  so,  in 
truth,  do  I ;  and  we  wijl  lay  it  aside  for  the  present." 

Just  then  the  sound  of  steps  was  heard  in  the  entry, 
and  the  next  moment  the  door  opened  and  Fanshaw  ap- 
peared. The  girls  rose  and  came  forward  to  greet  him. 
The  stranger  also  advanced  to  the  fire ;  and  Mary  men- 
tioned the  names  of  the  gentlemen,  by  way  of  intro- 
duction. They  bowed,  each  measuring  the  other  with  a 


HILLSBORO'    FAP.MS.  125 

rapid  glance,  as  men  do,  and  then  they  all  stood  for 
some  time  around  the  hearth,  talking  rather  pleasantly. 
Lucy  was  the  most  silent.  As  she  listened  to  the  graceful 
flow  of  Mary's  conversation,  watched  her  as  she  turned 
from  one  to  the  other  of  her  evidently  admiring  listeners, 
saw  her  perfect  ease  and  self-possession,  and  marked  her 
ready  wit  and  lively  play  of  fancy,  she  was  more  than 
ever  convinced  of  her  own  inferiority.  She  would  have 
given,  at  that  moment,  every  worldly  advantage  which  she 
possessed  —  and  she  well  knew  that  these  were  many  — 
for  the  charm  of  Mary's  gay  and  graceful  manner.  She 
saw  that  the  stranger  turned  always  to  Mary ;  and  even 
Fanshaw  was  just  then  listening  with  an  evident  pleasure 
and  admiration,  which  caused  her  a  momentary  uneasy 
pain.  •  By  and  by  the  conversation  drifted  far  away  from 
her.  It  was  of  people  and  things,  and  of  events  transpir- 
ing in  the  great  world  outside  her  own  —  that  world 
which  she  had  hitherto  thought  of  and  cared  for  so  little, 
to  which  Mary,  and  Fanshaw,  and  the  stranger,  all  belonged, 
but  in  which  she  had  no  part. 

It  was  a  pleasant  and  cheerful  group  which  gathered 
around  Hannah's  evening  fire  when  tea  was  over.  As  Mr. 
Stafford  took  down  from  the  high  mantel-piece  the  book  he 
had  been  reading,  he  said,  turning  to  Fanshaw,  — 

"  You  see  what  sort  of '  Talisman '  against  ennui  we  have 
found  this  stormy  day.  You,  I  suppose,  are  no  stranger  to 
Sir  Kenneth." 

"No ;  he  was  the  first  whom  I  knew  of  that  train  of 
gentle,  perfect  knights  made  famous  by  Sir  Walter.  I 
shall  be  glad  to  renew  my  acquaintance  with  him." 

Hannah  had  taken  Lucy's  place  at  the  work-table,  and 


126  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

the  jacket,  under  her  skilful  hands,  was  coming  on  rapidly ; 
while  Lucy,  on  her  favorite  low  seat  by  the  fire,  with  her 
head  leaned  against  Lydia's  knee,  gave  herself  up  wholly 
to  the  pleasure  of  listening.  Not  a  syllable  escaped  her, 
as  chapter  after  chapter  was  begun  and  ended ;  and  when, 
late  in  the  evening,  the  story  was  finished,  and  the  stranger 
laid  down  the  book,  she  drew,  unconsciously,  a  long,  flut- 
tering sigh,  as  if  some  pleasant  spell  were  gently  broken. 

The  reading  ended,  and  the  sewing  laid  aside,  they  all 
drew  close  about  the  fire,  and  Heman  brought  forward 
apples,  a  pitcher  of  cider,  and  a  lai'ge  basket  of  nuts.  With 
these,  and  with  much  talk  and  laughter,  they  wore  away 
an  evening  of  such  length  as  was  seldom  spent  under  that 
roof.  Of  all  their  enjoyment  the  stranger,  so  unexpectedly 
thrown  among  them,  was  the  life  'and  soul.  There  was  a 
charm  in  his  buoyant,  infectious  gayety  —  whatever  might 
underlie  it  —  which  was  irresistible.  His  humor  was  so 
genuine,  his  courtesy  so  sincere,  he  charmed  all  alike,  from 
the  oldest  to  the  youngest.  Though  he  seldom  spoke  of 
himself,  and  always  in  the  most  general  and  indefinite 
manner,  it  was  evident  that  he  had  travelled  much,  and 
known  men  in  all  stations  and  in  many  lands.  He  had 
ever  some  pointed  anecdote  or  bit  of  graphic  description, 
some  adventure  or  keen  satiric  comment,  that  made  his 
conversation  sparkle  like  a  mosaic,  but  the  effect  of  which 
is  quite  lost  in  any  attempt  to  repeat  it.  For,  in  truth,  it 
was  not  so  much  in  the  superior  force  or  brilliancy  of  any- 
thing he  said  that  the  charm  of  his  talk  lay,  as  in  the 
personal  magnetism  of  the  man,  which  affected  all  whom 
he  came  near.  Add  to  this  the  singular  grace  of  a  manner 
which  united  the  highest  polish  of  society  with  an  almost 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  127 

boyish  naturalness,  and  it  is  not  surprising  that  the  dwell- 
ers in  that  lonely  farm-house  should  feel  themselves  rather 
indebted  to  the  storm  which  had  driven  him  to  find  shel- 
ter among  them.  When  Hannah  conducted  her  guest  to 
his  room  that  night,  it  was  not  to  the  little  apartment  over 
the  wood-house,  but  the  best  the  house  afforded,  warmed 
and  lighted,  awaited  him.  So  much  had  he  won  upon 
her  regard,  that  her  housekeeper's  pride  was  mortified 
that,  even  under  the  stress  of  circumstances  attending 
his  first  arrival,  she  had  not  better  provided  for  his  com- 
fort ;  and  it  was  with  many  apologies  that  the  good  soul 
now  led  the  way  up  stairs. 


128  HILLSBORO'    FAKMS. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  next  day  dawned  clear  and  bright.  A  cloudless 
blue  overarched  the  scene  so  lately  dark  with  storm.  The 
sunlight  was  reflected  with  dazzling  brilliancy  from  the 
new-fallen  snow,  which  stretched,  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  a  white,  unbroken  surface.  Towards  noon,  Sunday 
though  it  was,  the  dwellers  on  the  various  roads  began  to 
appear  with  shovels  and  slow,  ponderous  oxen,  to  "  break 
out"  the  track.  Heman,  with  a  commendable  public  spirit, 
brought  out  his  broad-horned  team,  and  joined  his  efforts 
to  the  rest.  Fanshaw,  and  the  stranger  also,  after  watch- 
ing the  proceedings  for  a  time  from  the  windows,  offered 
their  services,  which  were  cheerfully  accepted.  Fanshaw's 
student  life  here  developed  its  effects.  Unused  to  violent 
exertion  of  any  kind,  he  soon  fell  behind  the  line  of  shov- 
ellers, while  the  stranger  —  white-handed,  and  apparently 
quite  as  unused  to  manual  labor  —  held  his  own  with  the 
best,  his  shapely  arms  showing  hard  ridges  of  muscle,  and 
his  strong,  deep  chest  never  varying  its  regular  rise  and 
fall.  Before  a  very  long  time,  Fanshaw,  quite  exhausted, 
threw  down  his  spade  and  retired  to  the  house ;  but  the 
stranger  remained  behind,  his  restless  fancy  caught  for  the 
time  by  the  novel  employment  and  the  new  companions. 
Resting  for  a  moment  on  his  spade,  surrounded  by  the 
huge  piles  of  snow,  he  was  accosted  by  Deacon  Sharpe, 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  129 

who  stood  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  shining  bald 
head  with  a  yellow  silk  handkerchief. 

"  Master  give  up  rather  easy." 

"  Rather  —  but  he  is  used  to  work  with  his  head,  while 
we  work  with  our  hands." 

"  Sartinly.  He  keeps  a  fust-rate  school.  Know  him 
well,  I  spose." 

"  Never  saw  him  till  yesterday.  Should  think  he  would, 
as  you  say,  keep  a  good  school." 

"  Wai,  he  doos  —  gives  gineral  satisfaction.  I  don't  be- 
lieve the  deestrict  has  been  better  suited  these  ten  year 
than  with  the  two  teachers  I've  chose,  last  summer  and  this 
winter." 

"  It  requires  a  very  judicious  person  to  choose  a  school- 
master." 

"  Jest  so ;  but  I've  hed,  fust  and  last,  considerable  expe- 
rience. Stoppin'  long  in  these  parts  ?  " 

"  Only  till  I  can  get  away.     Delayed  by  the  storm." 

"  O,  travellin'.     Got  folks  in  this  neighborhood  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Come  on  business,  most  likely." 

"  Not  precisely." 

"  You'll  find  it  pretty  bad  doin'  for  considerable  of  a 
spell  now.  Which  road  be  you  travellin'  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know  yet ;  think  I  shall  take  the  best,  how- 
ever." 

"  They'll  any  of  'em  be  bad  enough  for  a  while.  Here, 
Ben  Miller,  fetch  them  oxen  up  this  way,"  cried  the  deacon, 
in  despair  of  getting  anything  out  of  his  new  acquaint- 
ance. 

Mr.  Stafford  turned  again  to  his  spade,  and  worked  long 
9 


180  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

and  to  the  purpose,  his  strong  limbs  seeming  to  defy  fa- 
tigue. The  drifts  on  those  hilly  roads  were  hard  and  deep, 
and  it  was  almost  sunset  before  they  had  reached  the  limits 
of  the  district  and  the  completion  of  their  task.  Then, 
resuming  his  coat,  and  swinging  the  shovel  over  his  shoul- 
der, he  took  his  stand  on  one  of  the  heavy  runners  of  He- 
man's  ox-sled,  and  rode  slowly  back  to  the  farm.  As  they 
approached  the  house,  he  saw  Mary  and  Lucy  standing 
in  the  doorway,  talking  with  a  young  man  whose  back  was 
towards  him.  He  turned  at  the  sound  of  the  approaching 
oxen,  and  revealed  the  pleasant  face  of  Ben  Miller.  Staf- 
ford recognized  him  as  one  he  had  particularly  noticed 
during  the  afternoon,  and  greeted  him  with  a  nod  and  a 
smile.  * 

"  We  are  come,  young  ladies,"  he  said,  taking  off  his  cap 
and  running  his  fingers  through  his  damp  curls,  "  to  re- 
ceive from  you  the  praise  due  our  exertions." 

"  We  are  prepared  not  only  to  praise  but  to  reward  you," 
said  Mary ;  "  and  that  is  not  always  the  meed  of  valor  in 
these  degenerate  days." 

"  I  should  think  not.  You  will  convince  me  that  Hills- 
boro'  is  really  the  paradise  which  Miss  Lucy  this  morning 
declared  it  to  be.  Will  it  be  altogether  out  of  rule  if  I 
ask  the  nature  of  the  reward  ?  " 

"  You  are  bidden  to  a  banquet.  The  good  Hannah  has 
prepared  such  a  dinner  as  only  she  knows  how  to  serve." 

"  Miss  Page  is  an  angel." 

"  Of  course  she  is,  and  not  an  unappreciated  one,  either. 
But  come ;  I  suspect  she  is  waiting  for  us.  Ben,  you  must 
come  too  and  dine  with  us." 

Ben  glanced  at  Lucy,  to  see  if  she  seconded  the  invita- 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  131 

tion;  but  she  was  occupied,  or  seemed  to  be,  with  some- 
thing Heman  was  telling  her,  and  did  not  turn  her 
head. 

"  No,  I  guess  not  to-night,  Miss  Elliot :  it  is  getting  late," 
he  said,  really  wishing  to  stay,  yet  determined  not  to  do 
so  without  encouragement  from  Lucy.  But  Mary,  who 
supposed  that,  of  course,  nothing  could  give  her  friend 
so  much  pleasure  as  to  have  Ben  remain,  compelled  her 
attention. 

"  Lucy,"  she  said,  "  cannot  you  say  something  to  induce 
Ben  to  stay  to  dinner  ?  " 

"  What  can  I  say  that  you  have  not  thought  of?  "  an- 
swered Lucy,  sweetly.  "  I  am  sure  Hannah  will  be  very 
glad  to  have  him." 

Ben  was  dissatisfied.  There  was  no  lack  of  civility  or 
kindness  in  Lucy's  manner,  but  there  was  nothing  more 
than  these.  He  felt  that  it  was  a  matter  of  real  indiffer- 
ence to  her  whether  he  went  or  staid ;  and  so  he  declined 
the  invitation,  bade  them  all  good  evening,  and  went  down 
the  hill  with  a  sorrowful  heart. 

That  evening,  as  Lucy  was  kneeling,  with  glowing 
cheeks,  before  the  fire,  busy  emptying  the  contents  of  her 
corn-parcher  into  a  basket  at  her  side,  Hannah,  looking  up 
suddenly,  inquired,  — 

"  Why  didn't  Ben  Miller  stop  to  dinner,  Lucy  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  her  cousin,  putting  back  a 
long  curl  that  had  fallen  over  her  face,  but  without  look- 
ing up. 

"Did  you  ask  him?" 

"Certainly;  and  so  did  Mary.  He  could  not  stay,  I 
suppose.  There,  Lydia,  isn't  that  beautiful  ?  "  she  added, 


132  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

in  the  same  breath,  as  she  raised  her  basket,  heaped  high 
with  snowy  corn. 

Hannah  was  observing  her  cousin  narrowly,  and  sighed 
softly  as  she  rose  to  her  feet.  Fanshaw  and  Mary  ex- 
changed quick,  smiling  glances.  They  thought  her  care- 
lessness assumed ;  but  Hannah,  who  could  read  her  better, 
saw  that  it  was  real,  and  she  sighed  because  it  was  con- 
firmation of  a  suspicion  which  had  begun  to  give  her 
much  anxiety. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Stafford  was  induced,  by  the  advice 
of  both  Fanshaw  and  Hannah,  to  postpone  his  departure 
until  the  afternoon,  in  the  belief  that  even  in  that  short 
space  of  time  the  roads  might  improve.  As  they  sat  & 
dinner,  Hannah  said,  with  her  usual  hearty  hospitality,  — 

"  I  hope,  Mr.  Stafford,  if  you  come  back  this  way,  you 
will  not  fail  to  call  and  see  us." 

"  That  is  the  very  thing  I  would  have  asked  permission 
to  do,  Miss  Page.  Believe  me,  I  shall  not  soon  forget  all 
your  kindness." 

"  Well,  for  the  matter  of  that,  we  haven't  done  anything 
to  speak  of,  or  worth  remembering  long.  But  we  shouldn't 
like  to  have  you  go  by  without  giving  us  a  call." 

"  How  long  shall  you  stay  in  Edgehill,  Mr.  Stafford  ?  " 
asked  Lydia,  who,  by  the  way,  was  become  a  great  favor- 
ite with  their  new  friend,  and  was  his  ardent  admirer  as 
well. 

"  That  must  depend.  I  hardly  know,  myself.  A  week 
—  perhaps  two." 

"  And  what  do  you  mean  to  do  with  Figaro  ?  "  —  a  name 
by  which  he  had  chosen  to  christen  the  little  companion 
of  his  journey. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  133 

"  O,  take  him  back  to  the  workhouse,  where  he  belongs." 

The  child,  who  was  sitting  by,  grinned,  showing  two 
white  rows  of  small,  even  teeth.  The  stranger  noticed  his 
look  of  incredulity. 

"  You  don't  believe  me,  you  little  vagabond,"  he  said, 
laughing;  "but  we  shall  see.  Ah!  some  one  has  taken 
the  road  before  me,  it  seems,"  he  added,  as  a  sleigh  drove 
slowly  up  to  the  door. 

"  Why,  it  is  Jerry !  "  cried  Lucy,  recognizing  her  father's 
horse  and  sleigh,  as  well  as  the  "  hired  man"  in  the  per- 
son of  the  driver.  "I  think,  Mary,  grandpa  has  grown 
desperate,  and  has  sent  for  you  and  me  to  go  up  there. 
Well,  Jerry,"  she  continued,  as  the  man  entered,  "  does 
grandpa  want  me  ?  " 

"  No,  Miss  Lucy ;  it  is  your  ma  sent  for  you  this  time." 

"  Is  anything  the  matter,  Jerry  ?  "  she  asked,  impressed 
by  something  in  the  manner  of  the  messenger.  "Is  any 
one  sick?" 

"  Your  grandmother  has  had  one  of  her  bad  spells." 

"  Is  she  very  sick,  Jerry  ?  "  asked  Lucy,  rising,  with  an 
anxious  face. 

"  She  was  dreadful  sick  Saturday  and  part  of  yesterday. 
The  squire  has  gone  to  Edgehill  after  a  doctor  to-day. 
Couldn't  get  there  afore,  you  know." 

"  When  was  she  taken,  Jerry  ?  "  asked  Hannah,  who  had 
also  left  the  table. 

"  In  the  night,  Friday,  I  believe  ;  but  they  warn't  much 
scairt  about  her  till  next  morning." 

"Did  aunt  Susan  say  anything  about  my  going  up?" 

"  Yes ;  she  wanted  you  to  come  if  you  could ;  but  Lucy 
was  to  come,  anyhow." 


134  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

Hannah  and  Lucy  lost  no  time  in  making  their  prepara- 
tions. They  bade  a  hasty  good  by  to  Mr.  Stafford,  whose 
horse'  already  stood  harnessed  at  the  door,  and  taking 
their  places  in  Jerry's  sleigh,  drove  quickly  away. 

Arrived  at  Lucy's  home,  they  found  their  grandmother 
better  than,  from  the  man's  account,  they  had  been  led 
to  expect,  but  still  suffering  very  much.  The  gentle  old 
lady  smiled  a  pleased,  though  feeble,  smile,  as  Lucy  bent 
over  her,  and  seemed  glad  to  see  the  bright  young  face 
once  more  about  her  room.  The  doctor  arrived  in  the 
course  of  the  afternoon,  and  pronounced  her  out  of  imme- 
diate danger,  but  looked  grave  when  her  ultimate  recovery 
was  mentioned. 

To  none  —  not  even  to  her  grandmother  —  did  Lucy's 
coming  seem  to  give  so  much  pleasure  as  to  the  captain. 
He  had  consented  to  her  leaving  them,  and  had  never 
complained  of  her  absence ;  but  daily  and  hourly  he  had 
missed  his  darling  —  missed  her  gay  voice  and  presence 
through  the  house,  her  companionship,  and  even  her  teas- 
ing and  tyrannical  ways.  Of  late  he  had  seen  less  of  her 
than  in  the  early  part  of  the  winter.  First,  the  little  even- 
ing calls  were  given  up;  then  the  Sunday  visits  grew 
shorter  and  shorter,  till  they  were  nearly  abandoned ;  and 
now  he  seldom  saw  her  unless  he  went  down  to  the  house. 
Lucy  was  touched  at  the  pleasure  the  old  man  manifested 
in  having  her  once  more  near  him.  She  saw  how  much 
he  had  missed  her,  and  how  much  he  wanted  her  with 
him,  though  he  would  not  ask  her  to  stay ;  and  she  re- 
solved to  remain  at  home,  at  least  for  a  few  days.  This 
may  seem  a  very  trifling  sacrifice ;  but  it  really  needed 
some  effort  of  decision  to  resist  the  strong  attractions 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  135 

which  drew  her  another  way,  and  to  devote  herself  to  the 
happiness  of  two  old  people,  who  did  not  in  the  least  re- 
quire her  presence  beyond  the  pleasure  that  it  gave  them. 
When,  towards  evening,  Hannah  was  preparing  to  go,  she 
said  to  her  young  cousin,  — 

"  Come,  Lucy,  we  ought  to  hurry.  It  is  getting  dark, 
and  you  know  how  bad  the  road  is." 

"  I  think  I  will  not  go  back  to-night,"  replied  Lucy,  who 
had  assumed  her  old  place  upon  her  grandfather's  knee, 
beside  the  sitting-room  fire. 

"But  you  had  better.  You  will  only  be  late  in  the 
morning,  if  you  stay." 

"  I  am  not  going  back  in  the  morning,  either." 

"  What  new  crotchet  have  you  got  in  your  head  now, 
child  ?  "  asked  Hannah,  pausing  in  the  act  of  tying  on  her 
hood  to  look  at  her  cousin. 

"  To  tell  you  the  plain  truth,  Hannah,  I  have  been  gone 
from  grandpa  so  long  that  he  is  getting  perfectly  unman- 
ageable ;  and  if  I  don't  give  him  a  day  or  two  of  discipline 
now,  by  the  time  school  is  done  I  shall  be  able  to  do  noth- 
ing with  him." 

The  old  man  did  not  reply,  except  to  tighten  his  clasp 
upon  the  small  hands  he  held ;  but  Hannah  asked,  in  some 
dismay,  — 

"And  what  do  you  suppose  Mary  and  Lydia  will  say, 
when  I  get  home  without  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Tell  them  they  must  spare  me  a  few 
days,"  she  answered,  laying  her  head  caressingly  against 
the  old  man's  breast. 

When  Hannah  was  leaving,  she  followed  to  the  door- 
steps, and  said,  — 


136  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  I  did  mean  to  go  back  with  you ;  but  I  think  grandpa 
wants  me  badly,  though  he  will  not  say  so.  I  couldn't 
leave  him  if  he  did,  you  know.  I  shall  stay  the  rest  of 
the  week.  Tell  Mary  to  come  up  and  spend  the  day. 
Good  night."  And  she  tripped  back  into  the  house. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  137 


CHAPTER  XIH. 

IT  must  be  confessed  that  Lucy  found  the  days  at  home 
going  by  a  little  heavily.  She  could  not  prevent  her 
thoughts  from  wandering  away,  across  the  snowy  fields, 
to  Hannah's  snug  sitting-room,  and  fancying  what  they 
were  all  doing  —  if  they  missed'  her  at  all,  and  who  would 
probably  miss  her  most.  The  week  she  had  allotted  for 
her  stay  was  gone,  and  another  nearly  ended ;  but  still, 
much  as  she  wished  to  return,  she  could  not  bring  herself 
to  leave  her  grandfather.  She  could  not  fail  to  see  how 
much  pleasure  she  gave  by  remaining;  so,  with  a  well- 
assumed  appearance  of  cheerfulness  and  content,  she  post- 
poned her  wishes  to  his.  She  waited  upon  her  grandmother 
with  the  utmost  sweetness  and  patience ;  read  to  and  oth- 
erwise amused  the  old  captain  ;  and,  to  as  great  an  extent 
as  possible,  filled  her  thoughts  with  the  interests  of  home 
and  its  dear  circle. 

One  evening  Lucy  had  been  flitting  about  the  invalid's 
room,  arranging  various  things  with  a  dainty  niceness  of 
touch,  and  brightening,  as  the  two  old  people  thought,  all 
that  she  came  near.  Her  grandmother's  eyes  followed 
her  with  a  fond  observant  glance  ;  and,  as  the  young  girl 
left  the  room,  she  said  to  her  husband,  who  was  sitting  be- 
side her,  — 

"  It  appears  to  me,  Thomas,  that  Lucy  is  altered  lately. 
She  seems  different  from  what  she  was." 


138  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  In  what  way,  my  dear  ?  " 

"I  can  hardly  tell.  She  was  always  the  most  affection- 
ate child  in  the  world ;  but  she  seems  more  thoughtful  and 
gentle  now." 

"Lucy  is  getting  older,  my  dear;  and  it  would  be 
strange  if  that  handsome  head-piece  of  hers  didn't  grow 
a  trifle  steadier.  She  is  a  good  girl,  though  —  our  Lucy  ; 
and  the  man  who  gets  her,  one  of  these  days,  will  be  a 
lucky  fellow." 

"  And  Ben's  chance  is  as  good  as  any  one's,  I  suppose." 

"  Very  likely :  yes ;  I  dare  say  it  is ;  though,  of  all  the 
unaccountable  pieces  of  machinery,  a  girl  of  eighteen  is 
the  most  difficult  to  reckon  on.  There  was  a  time  this 
winter  when  I  thought  the  French  lessons,  and  the  poetry 
reading,  and  all  that  nonsense  with  the  master,  wouldn't 
help  Ben  any;  but  I  rather  think  the  danger  in  that  quar- 
ter is  all  over  now." 

"  You  think  he  has  a  fancy  for  Mary  ?  " 

"  Unless  some  very  good  signs  fail,  that  is  the  case,  I 
am  quite  willing  such  an  arrangement  should  come  about. 
Mary  is  a  capital  girl,  and  deserves  a  first-rate  husband ; 
but  I  think  she  could  do  worse." 

Lucy  came  back  into  the  room,  and  they  said  no  more. 

It  was  a  day  or  two  after  this  that  Mary  came  up  to 
spend  the  afternoon  with  her  friend.  The  two  girls  passed 
the  long,  bright  hours  undisturbed  in  the  sunny  sitting- 
room.  Mrs.  Fraser  went  in  and  out  occasionally,  without 
interrupting  the  flow  of  their  pleasant  talk.  Mary,  in  a 
low  rocking-chair  by  the  window,  .sewed  industriously 
while  she  chatted ;  and  Lucy,  on  a  footstool  at  her  side, 
sat  idly  snipping  bits  of  paper  with  bright,  dangerous- 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  139 

looking  scissors.  It  was  a  day  destined  to  be  long  re- 
membered by  them  both,  though  for  the  most  widely  dif- 
fering reasons.  Lucy  was  very  happy,  and  Mary  had 
never  been  more  engaging  and  affectionate ;  for  a  new 
•  and  yet  unacknowledged  happiness  warmed  her  heart 
towards  all  the  world.  What  bright  dreams  they  in- 
dulged !  What  pleasant  next-summer  plans  they  dis- 
cussed !  —  destined,  for  one  at  least,  to  be  as  short-lived 
as  the  sunshine  of  that  brief  winter  day.  How  little  could 
they  foresee  the  years  that  would  have  passed,  the  changes 
that  would  be  wrought,  before  they  two  would  meet 
again. 

While  they  sat  at  the  tea-table,  Mrs.  Fraser  said  some- 
thing about  Jerry's  taking  Mary  home  in  the  sleigh. 

O,  no,  Mary  insisted,  that  would  not  be  at  all  necessary. 
The  walking  was  again  very  good  ;  and,  besides,  Mr.  Fan- 
shaw  had  said  he  should  come  up  to  see  them  during  the 
evening,  and  she  would  not  be  obliged  to  return  alone. 

At  this  announcement  Lucy  felt  her  heart  give  a  sud- 
den bound ;  and  her  hand  shook  so  that  she  spilled  the  tea 
Dolly  was  at  that  moment  handing  her  over  her  dress,  and 
was  obliged  to  leave  the  table. 

It  was  an  hour  later  when  Fanshaw  raised  the  great 
brass  knocker  on  Squire  Fraser's  door,  and  its  loud  peal 
sounded  through  the  house.  The  two  friends  were  stand- 
ing, arm  in  arm,  by  the  window,  looking  out  at  the  still 
winter  moonlight,  which,  like  a  flood  of  silver,  lay  over 
all  the  wide  hill-side,  and  drew,  with  an  exquisitely  fine 
traceiy,  the  shadows  of  the  elms  standing  motionless  in 
the  night  air.  Lucy  turned  round  with  a  heightened  color, 
and  a  shy,  happy  look  in  her  eyes ;  but  it  would  have 


140  HILLSBORO     FARMS. 

needed  a  very  close  observer  to  detect  any  change  in  Ma- 
ry's composed  though  smiling  face.  A  somewhat  linger- 
ing pressure  which  her  hand  received  from  the  visitor's 
might,  however,  have  been  set  down  as  significant  by  any 
one  who  remembered  that  it  was  scarcely  half  a  dozen 
hours  since  they  had  met ;  but  the  circumstance  was  un- 
noticed by  all. 

Lucy  enjoyed  this  evening  intensely.  She  was  gay  and 
light-hearted  as  a  bird.  Mary,  though  seemingly  very 
happy,  was  unusually  quiet,  saying  little ;  but  Fanshaw 
was  charming.  Lucy  thought  she  had  never  seen  him  so 
animated,  so  full  of  life  and  spirit.  And  then  he  had 
been  so  glad  to  see  her,  had  said  they  missed  her  so  much, 
and  expressed  regret  at  losing  their  pleasant  lessons ;  all 
of  which  was  strictly  truthful,  but  uttered  merely  as  pleas- 
ant, though  sincere,  compliment,  and  forgotten  as  soon 
as  spoken.  By  and  by  the  captain  came  in,  and  they  had 
a  game  of  whist,  in  which  Lucy  and  Fanshaw  were  badly 
beaten  by  Mary  and  the  old  gentleman. 

When  the  rubber  was  ended,  the  captain  returned  to 
his  own  room,  and  Mrs.  Fraser,  bidding  Fanshaw  and 
Mary  good  night,  went  with  him,  as  the  invalid  would 
require  her  attention  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening. 
Very  soon  after,  Mary  rose  to  go.  Lucy  begged  her  to 
wait  a  few  minutes,  while  she  went  for  something  which 
she  wished  to  send  to  Lydia.  She  was  detained  longer 
than  she  had  expected,  and  it  was  some  fifteen  or  twenty 
minutes  that  her  guests  were  left  alone. 

As  she  came  hurrying  back,  the  words  of  apology  on 
her  lips,  and  her  light,  slippered  feet  making  no  sound  on 
the  soft  carpet,  she  was  suddenly  arrested  at  the  threshold 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  141 

by  the  sight  disclosed  through  the  half-open  door.  Fan- 
shaw  was  standing  with  one  elbow  resting  on  the  chimney- 
piece,  and  looking  down  with  happy,  tender  eyes  into  the 
face  of  his  companion,  who  stood  beside  him  with  her 
hand  laid  lightly  on  his  arm.  She  had  her  face  raised  to 
his,  and  was  speaking  rapidly  and  with  evident  earnest- 
ness, for  her  usually  pale  cheek  was  flushed  with  a  warm 
color.  She  paused  a  moment,  as  if  for  an  answer,  still 
looking  up.  He  did  not  speak,  but  returned  her  gaze  for 
a  second,  then,  laying  his  arm  across  her  shoulder,  bent 
his  head  and  pressed  his  lips  to  hers  in  a  long,  unresisted 
kiss. 

Lucy  turned  from  the  door  and  walked  back  into  the 
empty  dining-room.  She  laid  the  things  she  held  on  the 
table,  and  rested  her  hand  on  a  chair  for  support.  Her 
breath  came  thick  and  hard,  and  her  brain  seemed  to  turn 
round.  Rapidly  her  thoughts  ran  back  over  the  past  lew 
weeks.  Had  she  been  blind  ?  Things  unregarded  before, 
and  slight  in  themselves,  took  weighty  meaning;  tones, 
looks,  and  words  came  back  fraught  with  a  fatal  signifi- 
cance. Had  she  been  living  in  a  delusion  ?  The  very 
earth  seemed  crumbling  beneath  her  feet. 

In  the  first  sharp  agony  of  the  moment  everything  was 
forgotten,  even  the  presence  of  Fanshaw  and  Mary  in  the 
house.  But  when  she  remembered  them,  and  what  the 
emergency  demanded  of  her,  she  made  a  vigorous  effort  to 
rally  her  scattered  faculties,  and  partially  succeeded.  She 
passed  her  hand  over  her  forehead,  as  if  to  dispel  some 
oppressive  weight,  called  up  a  dreary  counterfeit  of  the 
smile  she  had  so  lately  worn,  and  went  back  to  the  room 
she  had  left  with  a  feeling  as  if  she  were  suddenly  frozen. 


142  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

It  was  fortunate  for  Lucy  that  her  guests  were  too  much 
occupied  with  themselves,  or  with  each  other,  to  observe 
her  narrowly,  or  they  must  have  seen  something  unusual 
in  the  cold  quiet  of  her  manner.  She  was  like  one  but 
half  recovered  from  a  stunning  blow — bewildered  and 
uncertain.  She  busied  herself  with  getting  Mary's  things, 
warming  her  overshoes,  and  other  little  attentions,  which 
kept  her  occupied  till  their  departure.  The  leave-taking 
on  Mary's  part  was  warm  and  kind,  on  Lucy's  a  little  quiet, 
but  not  otherwise  unusual.  When  Fanshaw  took  her  hand 
at  parting,  her  assumed  composure  had  nearly  given  way. 
But  she  was  come  of  a  resolute  race,  this  soft  and  petted 
child ;  and,  though  her  heart  was  ready  to  cry  out  in  its 
anguish,  the  little  hand  did  not  tremble,  and  the  dim  light 
in  the  hall  where  they  stood  concealed  whatever  evidences 
of  emotion  her  face  may  have  worn.  She  spoke  her  good 
night  steadily,  and  stood  watching  them  as,  arm  in  arm, 
they  went  slowly  down  the  moonlit  hill. 

For  a  moment  a  hard,  angry  feeling  arose  in  her  breast 
against  Mary  —  a  feeling,  however,  which  could  not  long 
find  room  in  so  loyal  a  heart  as  hers.  How  could  Mary 
know  the  secret  which  she  had  hardly  confessed  to  herself? 
That  her  weakness  was  not  even  guessed  at  by  either  of 
the  two  who  had  just  left  her  was  all  the  consolation  she 
could  find.  Hour  after  hour  she  lay,  in  the  silence  of  her 
chamber,  gazing,  with  hot,  tearless  eyes,  out  into  the  white 
moonlight,  and  revolving  in  her  mind  what  she  had  lately 
seen.  She  tried  to  think  calmly,  to  comprehend  what  had 
really  happened  to  her ;  but,  poor  child,  her  beautiful  dream 
had  been  so  suddenly  shattered,  the  blow  had  fallen  so 
heavily,  that  she  was  too  much  stunned  to  reason.  At  first 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  143 

she  could  comprehend  nothing  but  the  one  simple  fact  of 
irreparable  loss.  She  accepted  that  as  something  fixed 
and  remediless.  At  length,  however,  there  came  the  re- 
flection that,  if  she  had  lost,  some  one  else  had  won ;  and 
the  bitterest  ingredient  in  her  cup  of  humiliation  was  that 
she  realized  only  too  well  why  she  could  have  had  no  hope 
to  rival  Mary.  She  saw  herself  an  ignorant,  awkward,  un- 
cultivated country  girl.  And  so  profound  was  her  sense 
of  inferiority  that  all  harsh  and  bitter  feeling  against  her 
friend  vanished  after  the  first  resentful  moment.  What 
possible  chance,  she  thought,  in  her  excessive  self-depre- 
ciation, had  there  ever  been  that  such  a  man  as  Fanshaw 
should  feel  for  her  anything  more  than  a  generous  friend- 
ship ?  How  she  despised  herself  for  what  she  called,  the 
blind  vanity  that  had  led  her  to  misinterpret  the  evidences 
of  such  a  feeling ! 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  avoid  both  Mary  and  Fanshaw ; 
but  she  was  wise  enough  to  reconsider  it.  It  had  been 
arranged  that  afternoon  that  she  should  go  down  to  her 
cousin's  the  next  day,  and  she  resolved  not  to  fail.  With 
all  her  humiliation,  pride  was  yet  too  strong  to  allow  her 
to  do  anything  which  might  reveal  her  wound  to  those  who 
had  inflicted  it.  She  might  die,  —  at  that  moment,  poor 
child,  she  really  believed  that  she  should,  —  but,  like  the 
Indian  who  sees  the  stake  prepared,  she  would  never 
cry  out. 


144  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  next  day  brought  company  from  out  of  town,  whose 
coming  detained  Lucy  at  home,  and  it  was  not  till  the 
evening  of  the  second  day  that  she  found  an  opportunity 
to  go  out.  As  she  was  putting  on  her  hood  and  shawl,  her 
mother,  who  was  sitting  by,  laid  down  her  work,  and  said, 
after  a  short,  thoughtful  pause,  — 

"  perhaps  it  would  be  best,  Lucy,  if  you  should  tell  Han- 
nah to  write  to  her  father  very  particularly  how  your  grand- 
mother is.  If  anything  should  happen  while  your  uncle  is 
away,  he  would  never  forgive  us  for  not  writing ;  and  I 
think  if  he  knew  how  she  is,  he  would  come  home  soon." 

"  Mother,  you  frighten  me !  Do  you  think  grandma  is 
going  to  die  ?  " 

"  No,  Lucy ;  I  will  not  say  that ;  but  I  feel  very  anxious, 
and  I  know  the  doctor  does.  But  your  uncle  ought  to 
know  that  we  have  some  fears,  though  we  still  hope  for 
the  best." 

"It  relieves  me  to  hear  you  say  that,  mother;  I  will 
tell  Hannah  to  write.  Good  night  —  I  do  not  think  I  shall 
come  back  till  morning." 

"  No ;  better  not.  You  look  too  tired  for  so  long  a  walk. 
Kiss  me  before  you  go,  my  child.  Good  night." 

Lucy  walked  down  the  hill  slowly,  and  with  bent  head, 
unmindful  of  the  clear,  calm  starlight,  of  the  faintly-glow- 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  145 

ing  east,  brightening  with  the  rising  moon,  and  of  the 
night  wind,  soft  and  sighing,  which  came  like  a  whisper  of 
approaching  spring,  from  the  beech-wood  on  the  hill.  She 
had  walked  more  than  half  the  distance  when  the  sound  of 
voices  attracted  her  attention,  and  she  perceived  two  fig- 
ures advancing  up  the  hill.  In  another  moment  she  heard 
her  own  name  called  by  Heman,  and  her  heart  beat  vio- 
lently as  she  thought  who  his  companion  might  be.  She 
soon  saw  her  mistake.  It  was  not  Fanshaw,  but  Ben  Mil- 
ler, who  accompanied  her  cousin,  and  she  could  hardly  tell 
if  she  were  more  relieved  or  disappointed  at  the  discovery. 

"Were  you  going  to  our  house?"  she  asked,  as  they 
came  near. 

"Yes,"  Heman  answered;  "Hannah  sent  ine  to  ask  your 
mother  about  the  blue  yarn ;  and  Ben,  here,  undertook  to 
come  too,  for  the  sake  of  keeping  me  company,  which  was 
very  good  of  him  —  eh,  Lucy  ?  " 

"  You  will  find  mother  at  home,"  Lucy  replied,  taking 
no  notice  of  her  cousin's  clumsy  raillery ;  and  she  was  turn- 
ing from  them,  when  Ben  informed  Heman  that  he  could 
go  on  alone,  as  he  himself  should  see  Lucy  to  her  uncle's 
door.  Though  this  arrangement  was  not  entirely  satisfac- 
tory to  her,  she  had  no  excuse  for  objecting  to  it,  and  the 
two  accordingly  walked  on  together. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  school  any  more,  Lucy  ? "  asked 
Ben,  after  they  had  proceeded  some  distance  in  silence,  or 
exchanging  only  an  occasional  word. 

"I  presume  so  —  by  and  by,  when  grandma  gets  a  little 
better.  But,  Ben,  I  have  hardly  seen  you  since  the  storm. 
What  a  night  that  was !  And  I  was  so  sorry  and  disap- 
pointed ! " 

10 


14G  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  I  was  disappointed,  too,  Lucy,"  answered  Ben ;  and  he 
added,  after  a  moment's  pause,  and  in  a  lower  tone,  "Do 
you  want  to  know  why  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  very  curious —  There !  Ben,  did  you  see  that 
lovely  meteor?" 

"No." 

"It  was  the  largest  one  I  ever  saw  —  a  beautiful  green, 
with  a  long  train  of  light  behind,"  she  continued,  rapidly, 
a  little  afraid  of  Ben's  tone. 

"  Lucy,  I  wish  you  would  listen  to  me,  and  not  try  to 
talk  of  something  else." 

"  I  will  listen,  if  you  will  not  talk  nonsense." 

"  It  is  not  nonsense,  Lucy,  all  I  have  in  my  mind,  and 
all  I  would  say  if  I  could.  I  haven't  the  ready  tongue 
some  have,  and  can't  put  my  feelings  in  words  as  I 
wish." 

"  Then  I  wouldn't  try,  Ben ;  better  let  all  go  unsaid," 
Lucy  answered,  softly,  and  a  little  sadly. 

"  But  I  must  speak,"  persisted  her  companion,  with  a  sud- 
den, warm  energy ;  "  and  you  must  listen.  It  is  not  non- 
sense I  am  talking  when  I  tell  you,  Lucy  Fraser,  that  I  love 
you  better  than  everything  on  God's  earth ;  and  I  haven't  a 
hope  or  a  wish  in  this  world  that  I  wouldn't  give  up  this 
minute  to  hear  you  say  you  feel  the  same  for  me.  There 
—  it  is  all  out  now  —  what  I  have  wanted  for  weeks  and 
months  to  say.  I  have  tried  a  long  time,  and  in  every  way, 
to  make  you  understand  this ;  but  whether  I  succeeded  or 
not,  I  could  never  tell ;  and  now  I  ask  you  plainly,  Do  you, 
can  you,  will  you  love  me  ?  Answer  me  something,  Lucy. 
After  all  this  miserable  waiting,  any  answer  is  better  than 
none." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  147 

"O,  Ben!  you  do  not  know  how  unhappy  you  make  me! 
I  wish  you  would  not  speak  so." 

"Don't  put  off  my  question  in  that1  way;  it  is  no  kind- 
ness to  me,"  entreated  Ben,  in  a  voice  low  and  husky. 
"Only  say  that  my  love  is  not  disagreeable  to  you  —  that 
some  time,  if  not  now,  you  may  value  it  —  some  time,  when 
you  have  thought  more  about  it." 

"I  hoped,  Ben,  you  would  not  force  me  to  say  what 
may  seem  unkind.  I  never  thought  you  cared  so  much 
for  me.  I  cannot  love  you  as  you  love  me.  Hush  !  don't 
urge  me  —  it  can  do  no  good ;  but  O,  forgive  me  if  I  ever 
gave  you  reason  to  think  differently.  I  never  meant  it  — 
I  did  not  know.  It  hurts  me,  Ben,  to  say  this,"  she  added, 
with  a  choking  voice ;  "  but  you  had  better  understand  me 
fully  now,  and  begin  to  forget  me  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"  It  is  easy  to  say  forget ;  do  you  think  it  will  be  easy  to 
do  ?  But  won't  you  give  me  one  last  chance  ?  Let  me 
think  you  may  change  your  mind.  I  will  wait  —  a  year  — 
ten  years  —  as  long  as  you  please." 

"It  is  of  no  use,  Ben.  I  shall  never  change  my  mind, 
and  it  would  be  wicked  in  me  to  give  you  any  such  hope. 
Indeed,  dear  Ben,  I  know  my  own  mind,  and  I  cannot  de- 
ceive you.  Here  we  are  at  uncle  Page's,"  she  added,  paus- 
ing and  holding  out  her  hand,  while  the  tears  stood  in  her 
beautiful  eyes.  ,"  Don't  come  in,  but  say  good  night  here. 
And  O,  Ben,  forgive  me  if  I  have  said  anything  unkind. 
It  was  the  farthest  from  my  wish." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,"  he  replied,  tenderly  press- 
ing between  his  two  strong  palms  the  little  hand  she 
offered  him,  "  and  nothing  to  blame  but  my  own  foolish- 
ness. God  bless  you,  Lucy  —  goodnight;"  and  he  turned 


148  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

slowly  away  down  the  hill,  while  Lucy  went  quickly  in, 
without  once  looking  back. 

Much  to  her  annoyance,  she  found  Hannah  occupied 
with  a  visitor  —  a  neighbor,  who  had  brought  her  knitting- 
work,  to  spend  the  evening.  No  one  else  was  present,  and 
as  soon  as  the  first  salutations  were  over,  she  inquired  for 
Mary. 

"  Why,  she  has  gone  home.     Didn't  Heman  tell  you  ?  " 

"No,  indeed.   When  did  she  go?" 

"  Yesterday.  They  went  away  about  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon." 

" '  They '  ?  "  Who  went  with  her,  and  what  made  her 
leave  so  suddenly  ?  " 

"Her  mother  sent  a  man  up  from  Windham  for  her. 
Her  grandfather  is  dead ;  he  died  very  suddenly,  the  man 
said,  in  a  fit." 

"  What  an  awful  providence ! "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Smiley, 
the  neighbor,  while  Lucy  remained  too  much  shocked  to 
speak.  "  I've  heerd  say,  Hannah,  that  old  Squire  Dwight 
was  a  terrible  hard  old  creetur.  So  he's  dead  at  last.  I 
wonder  if  he  left  a  will." 

"  To  tell  the  truth,"  answered  Hannah,  a  little  hesitat- 
ingly, "that  was  the  first  thing  I  thought  of  myself.  It 
seems  rather  unfeeling  to  think  of  a  man's  money  first ;  but 
he  wasn't  a  man  to  be  mourned  for  much.  If  there  is  no 
will,  Mrs.  Elliot  will  come  in  for  her  full  share  of  the  prop- 
erty, and  Mary's  fortune  will  be  quite  large.  But  I  dare 
say  there  is  a  will.  The  old  man  always  said  there  was." 

"  Did  Mary  leave  any  word  for  me  ?  "  asked  Lucy. 

"  Yes ;  she  wanted  to  see  you  again  very  much,  but  said 
she  should  expect  you  to  come  to  Windham  in  the  summer, 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  149 

as  you  promised.  She  meant  to  leave  a  note  for  you,  but 
hadn't  time  to  write  it  —  said  she  would  write  soon, 
though." 

"  Ah,  Lucy !  is  that  you  ?  "  said  a  clear  voice  at  the  door, 
that  made  Lucy  start.  "I  am  glad  to  see  you  back  again. 
We  are  losing  our  family  rapidly." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Fanshaw ;  Hannah  tells  me  that  Mary  is  gone 
—  a  disagreeable  surprise." 

"  I  hope  you  have  come  back  to  stay.  Hannah  and  I 
shall  be  positively  dismal  if  left  to  ourselves  much  longer." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  stay  this  time,"  Lucy  replied,  with 
a  very  good  imitation  of  her  old  bright  smile. 

"  You  are  not  intending  to  return  to-night  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Then  I  shall  see  you  again  in  the  morning ; "  and  he 
passed  on  to  his  own  room. 

Lucy  sat  down  by  the  fire,  paying  little  heed  to  the  gos- 
sip of  Mrs.  Smiley,  whose  tongue  and  knitting-needles 
played  a  lively  and  continuous  tune.  Lydia  had  gone  to 
spend  the  night  with  some  young  companion,  and  she  was 
thus  left  quite  to  herself  and  the  company  of  her  own 
thoughts.  She  was  distressed  by  her  interview  with  Ben 
Miller,  and  reproached  herself  for  nruch  of  her  conduct 
towards  him.  His  generous  denial  of  any  blame  on  her 
part  did  not  wholly  relieve  her  conscience.  Then  she 
thought  of  Mary's  departure,  and  how  much  she  regretted 
it ;  and  the  next  moment  she  reproached  herself  that  she 
did  not  regret  it  more. 

Mrs.  Smiley  staid  until  quite  late ;  and  then  Heman 
came,  and  they  sat  round  the  fire  talking  until  Hannah 
ordered  her  brother  off  to  bed. 


150  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  I  am  glad  you  came  down  to-night,"  Hannah  said,  when 
they  were  alone.  "  I  have  been  real  lonesome  since  Mary 
went  away." 

"  You  must  be  —  and  Lydia  gone,  too.  And  so  Mary's 
grandfather  is  dead,"  she  added,  thoughtfully.  "It  is  sad 
to  think,  Hannah,  that  nobody  will  really  be  sorry  he  is 
gone." 

"  It  is  his  own  fault  that  no  one  regrets  him.  But  I  have 
a  good  deal  of  curiosity  about  his  will,  though."  And  she 
continued,  —  rising  and  going  to  the  clock,  which  she  began 
to  wind,  with  her  face  carefully  turned  from  her  cousin, — 
"Did  it  ever  strike  you,  Lucy,  that  Mary  and  the  master 
had  more  than  just  a  fancy  for  each  other  ?  " 

"  I  may  have-  thought  of  it  sometimes.  Why  ?  "  replied 
Lucy,  in  as  calm  a  voice  as  she  could  assume,  glancing 
quickly  at  her  companion,  whose  back  was  still  towards  her. 

"Because  Mary  told  me,  the  day  before  she  left,  that 
they  were  engaged.  She  said  she  meant  to  have  told  you 
the  day  she  was  at  your  house  j  but,  somehow,  she  couldn't 
find  a  good  chance.  It  seems  she  has  taken  the  master  on 
condition  he  will  wait  for  her.  She  says  she  can't  afford 
to  marry  now  —  they  are  both  too  poor.  So,  you  see,  the 
old  man's  will  may  make  a  good  deal  of  difference  to  them. 
Are  you  surprised  ?  " 

At  the  first  of  these  announcements,  which  Hannah  de- 
livered without  once  looking  round,  Lucy  had  caught  her 
breath  sharply  through  her  white  lips,  and  then  remained 
perfectly  quiet,  though  extremely  pale.  To  Hannah's 
question  she  replied,  in  a  voice  so  low  and  husky  as  to 
betray  to  her  cousin  the  effort  it  cost  her,  — 

"ISfot  wholly — I  have  expected  as  much  recently — no; 
I  am  not  surprised." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  151 

Hannah  had  no  heart  to  pursue  the  subject  farther,  and 
adroitly  appeared  to  have  her  attention  drawn  to  some- 
thing else.  During  their  preparations  for  bed,  Lucy  said 
little,  but  Hannah  kept  up  a  show  of  interest  in  a  variety 
of  topics,  with  sensitive  delicacy  striving  not  to  see  the  too 
evident  distress  of  the  young  girl. 

They  were  to  occupy  the  same  bed,  and  after  exchanging 
good  nights,  both  lay  for  more  than  an  hour  in  perfect 
silence.  Lucy  thought  her  companion  sleeping,  and  a  long, 
tremulous  sigh  escaped  her  lips.  The  next  instant  she  felt 
Hannah's  arras  clasped  closely  about  her,  and  her  head 
pressed  to  that  kind  bosom.  This  silent,  gentle  sympathy, 
from  one  she  loved  so  well,  overthrew  the  last  barrier 
raised  by  pride,  and  tears,  restrained  till  then,  and  choking 
sobs,  gave  evidence  of  the  anguish  that  wrung  her  heart. 

"  My  poor  lamb ! "  whispered  Hannah,  softly.  It  was 
all  she  said  —  it  was  all  she  ever  said ;  but  each  fully 
understood  the  other. 

After  a  time  Lucy's  wild  sobs  ceased ;  and  though  her 
tears  still  flowed,  it  was  softly.  But  no  sleep  gave  her 
temporary  forgetfulness  ;  and  when  her  eyelids  opened  on 
the  dull  gray  of  early  morning,  the  coming  day  seemed 
insupportable.  A  single  day  seemed  a  misery  impossible 
to  endure ;  and  yet  there  flashed  on  her  mind  the  thought 
that  she  was  to  endure  years  of  days  as  hopeless.  Poor 
child !  she  had  not  yet  learned  the  sad  yet  blessed  truth 
which  Wallenstein  expressed,  when  he  said,  — 

"  Verschmerzen  werd' ich  dicscn  Schlag,  das  weiss  ich, 
Denn  was  verschmerzte  nicht  der  Mensch !   Vom  Hochsten 
Wie  vom  Gemeinsten  lernt  er  sich  entwohnen, 
Dcnn  ilm  bcsiegcn  die  gewalt'gen  Stunden." 


152  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

The  joy  and  the  sunshine  of  life  were  gone.  That  they 
could  return  never  seemed  to  her  possible.  'Nothing  re- 
mained now  but  to  endure  while  existence  should  last. 
To  the  violent  outburst  of  feeling  on  the  preceding  even- 
ing had  succeeded  a  dull,  brooding  calm,  a  kind  of  sullen 
apathy,  more  fatal  than  the  most  frantic  grief. 

Rising  carefully,  that  she  might  not  disturb  her  cousin, 
she  dressed  and  passed  noiselessly  out  of  the  house.  With 
heavy  footsteps,  in  the  dim,  early  morning,  she  took  her 
way  homeward.  Her  pale  cheeks  and  heavy  eyes  at  once 
attracted  the  attention  of  her  family.  To  their  anxious 
inquiries  she  returned  answer  that  her  head  ached,  and  she 
believed  she  had  taken  cold  ;  and  she  was  obliged  to  sub- 
mit herself  at  once  to  her  mother's  anxious  nursing.  Mrs. 
Fraser  thought  she  had  not  seemed  well  for  a  week,  and 
insisted  that  she  should  go  no  more  to  her  uncle's,  but  stay 
at  home  and  be  taken  care  of. 

Lucy  readily  consented.  She  had  no  longer  any  wish  or 
preference.  Her  days  passed  heavily  enough.  Her  dreary 
forebodings  were  all  true;  life  was  the  burden  she  had 
looked  for  it  to  be.  She  saw,  with  a  passionate  regret,  that 
the  past  few  months  had  made  a  return  to  her  old  careless, 
happy  life  impossible,  even  if  she  could  outlive  the  present 
pain.  And  what  had  these  months  brought  her  in  ex- 
change ?  A  few  brief,  bright  weeks  of  illusive  happiness, 
and  a  present  and  a  future  without  hope ! 

This  passive  acceptance  of  her  fate  as  something  she 
might  and  should  have  foreseen,  induced  a  dull,  apathetic 
state  of  feeling  from  which  nothing  was  able  to  rouse  her. 
A  violent  and  passionate  sense  of  injury  or  injustice  would 
have  been  far  less  dangerous.  But  for  Mary  and  Fanshaw 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  153 

she  had  no  bitter  or  resentful  thought.  Looking  her  sor- 
row steadily  in  the  face,  she  saw  —  or  believed  she  saw  — 
that  she  had  merely  deceived  herself.  She  had  shut  her 
eyes  and  allowed  herself  to  dream  a  beautiful  dream  which 
had  no  foundation  in  reality.  She  could  not  see  —  and  it 
was  fortunate  for  her  that  she  could  not  —  how  different 
might  have  been  the  result  but  for  Mary's  coming  to  Hills- 
boro'.  At  that  time  but  little,  but  very  little,  was  wanting 
to  make  Fanshaw  her  lover.  He  was  not,  however;  he 
was  only  a  rather  warm  admirer.  Had  nothing  occurred 
to  change  the  current  of  that  feeling,  it  would  possibly,  and 
very  probably,  have  deepened  gradually  into  an  earnest 
and  lasting  attachment.  But  Mary  came,  an\i  in  a  week 
the  fate  of  all  three  was  decided.  Fanshaw  himself  was 
no  more  aware  of  the  truth  of  this  than  Lucy.  He  hon- 
estly believed  that  he  now  entertained  for  his  lovely  pupil 
the  same  feeling  that  he  always  had.  It  did  vary  but  very 
little  —  yet  that  little  was  everything.  Of  the  real  state 
of  Lucy's  feeling  neither  he  nor  Mary  had  a  guess.  The 
general  impression  among  her  friends  concerning  Ben  Mil- 
ler had  completely  blinded  them. 

The  state  of  extreme  mental  and  physical  depression 
into  which  Lucy  had  fallen  would  have  caused  great  anxi- 
ety to  her  family,  had  it  not  seemed  to  them  to  be  partly 
explained  —  as  it  was  in  a  great  measure  thrust  out  of 
sight  —  by  the  increasing  illness  of  her  grandmother.  Old 
Mrs.  Fraser  was  rapidly  failing ;  they  could  no  longer  de- 
ceive themselves.  Lucy  devoted  herself  assiduously  to  the 
invalid,  glad  to  be  employed  in  a  service  which  demanded 
all  her  thoughts.  She  gave  herself  no  rest  by  night  or 
day ;  and  the  neighbors,  as  they  saw  her  faded  cheek  and 


154  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

wasted  form,  said  Lucy  Fraser  was  killing  herself  taking 
care  of  her  grandmother.  When  her  father  remonstrated 
with  her,  and  begged  her  to  take  a  little  rest,  she  replied, 
with  a  passionate  burst  of  tears,  — 

"  It  will  not  be  long,  father,  that  I  can  do  anything  for 
dear  grandma.  Don't  deny  me  now." 

And  so  they  let  her  have  her  way. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  155 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MAEY  ELLIOT  had  been  gone  two  weeks  when  there 
came  a  long  letter  from  her  to  Lucy.  In  it  she  expressed 
regret  at  not  having  been  able  to  see  her  friend  again,  and 
told,  in  happy  words,  of  her  engagement,  adding  that  she 
should  expect  Lucy,  if  not  disqualified  before  that  time 
arrived,  to  act  as  her  bridesmaid.  She  spoke  briefly,  though 
kindly,  of  her  grandfather,  but  did  not  allude  in  any  way 
to  the  disposition  of  his  property ;  from  which  both  Lucy 
and  Hannah  inferred  that  it  was  left,  as  the  old  man  had 
always  said  it  should  be,  to  his  elder  daughters. 

One  morning,  about  three  weeks  after  Mary's  departure, 
as  Hannah  was  at  work  in  her  kitchen,  she  heard  a  knock 
at  the  outer  door.  Hastily  dusting  the  flour  from  her 
hands,  and  rolling  down  her  sleeves,  she  went  to  open  it, 
and  was  surprised  to  find  standing  on  the  doorstep  the 
stranger  who  had  sought  the  shelter  of  her  roof  on  the 
night  of  the  storm.  The  warm  words  of  welcome  that 
sprang  to  her  lips  were  indorsed  by  the  kindly  smile  in 
her  eyes. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Stafford !  I  declare,  you  are  the  last  person 
I  expected.  Walk  in  —  do.  I  am  right  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Many  thanks.  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation,  as  I 
was  passing,  to  look  in  upon  you  for  a  moment.  Are  you 
alone?" 


156  HILLSBORO*   FARMS. 

"  Yes,  just  now.    My  folks  are  at  school.    But  sit  down." 

"  I  must  not  stay  five  minutes,"  he  answered,  standing, 
cap  in  hand,  before  the  fire.  Your  little  family,  I  presume, 
is  much  the  same  as  when  I  saw  you." 

"It  is  some  changed:  we  have  lost  two  out  of  our 
number." 

"  Ah !     And  which  two,  pray  ?  " 

"  Well,  Miss  Elliot  has  gone  home.  Her  grandfather 
died,  and  they  sent  for  her.  And  cousin  Lucy  is  gone,  too. 
Her  folks  are  sick." 

"  A  change  indeed  —  so  the  day  is  changed  when  the 
sun  sets.  But  you  have  still  that  agreeable  schoolmaster  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  will  stay  a  week  or  so  longer.  But  do  take 
off  your  overcoat,  and  stay  to  dinner." 

"  Impossible,  my  kind  friend.  I  should  be  most  happy 
to  do  so ;  but  it  is  really  impossible,  as  I  have  to  go  to 
Kiffton  between  this  and  one  o'clock,  to  see  a  person  who 
will  arrive  there  in  the  train  at  that  time." 

"  Have  you  been  in  Edgehill  all  the  time  since  you  were 
here?" 

"Yes,  except  some  brief  excursions  into  the  neighbor- 
ing towns." 

"What  has  become  of  that  boy?" 

"Good  heavens!  he  sticks  to  me  like  a  bur.  He  has 
made  up  his  mind  to  abide  with  me ;  and  I  see  no  way  but 
to  submit." 

"  But  what  can  you  do  with  him,  Mr.  Stafford  ?  " 

"  You  might  ask,  what  will  he  do  with  me  ?  I  plainly 
foresee  that  I  shall  be  as  wax  in  his  hands.  I  can't  get  rid 
of  him.  I  told  him  this  morning  that  I  should  send  the 
Kiffton  overseers  of  the  poor  after  him ;  and  the  rascal 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  157 

grinned  in  my  face.  He  waits  upon  me  like  a  slave,  and 
obeys  me  like  a  dog  in  everything  but  this  —  he  refuses  to 
leave  me.  I  dare  say  I  shall  end  by  liking  the  imp.  He 
is  a  prime  favorite  with  Mr.  Gore." 

"  O,  you  are  staying  with  Mr.  Gore  still  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  I  find  it,  as  your  pretty  cousin  assured  me, 
a  delightful  house.  I  have  long  known  Mr.  Gore  by  rep- 
utation, and  we  had  exchanged  a  good  many  letters,  first 
and  last.  I  regret  now  that  I  should  so  long  have  delayed 
making  the  personal  acquaintance  of  a  man  I  so  much 
admire." 

Although  Mr.  Stafford  declined  sitting  down,  pleading 
great  haste,  he  still  remained  some  time,  standing  opposite 
Hannah  at  the  fireplace,  or  taking,  now  and  then,  a  quick 
turn  up  and  down  the  room,  restless  not  so  much  from 
nervousness  as  from  an  abundant  fulness  of  life.  It  was 
not  until  after  several  attempts  at  leave-taking  that  he 
finally  found  himself  on  the  doorstep.  As  he  buttoned  the 
fur  collar  of  his  coat  more  closely  about  his  neck,  and 
sprang  into  the  sleigh,  Hannah  asked,  — 

"  When  shall  you  come  back  this  way,  Mr.  Stafford  ?  " 

"  To-night,  probably.  I  think  I  left  a  promise  with  my 
host  to  that  effect." 

"  Can't  you  get  back  in  time  to  stop  and  take  tea  with 
us  ?  I  should  be  very  glad  to  have  you.  The  nights  are 
fine,  and  you  can  drive  to  Edgehill  after  eight  just  as  well 
as  before." 

"  I  should  be  only  too  happy  to  do  so ;  and,  if  I  can  get 
back  in  season,  I  certainly  will.  Having  one  of  Mr.  Gore's 
best  horses,  I  may  find  it  practicable.  However,  if  I  am 
not  here  by  sharp  six,  do  not  wait  for  me." 


158  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

"  We'll  see  about  that.  But  you  will  be  here,  I  guess. 
It  is  a  pleasant  day  to  go  to  Kiffton,  and  the  sleighing  is 
better  than  I  expected  to  see  it  again  this  winter.  Now, 
be  sure  and  come  back;"  and,  as  he  turned  his  horse's 
head,  and  lifted  his  fur  cap  with  a  low  bow,  Hannah  add- 
ed to  herself,  — 

"  Strange  what  makes  me  like  that  man  so  much !  I 
don't  know  the  first  thing  about  him ;  but  when  he  is  here 
I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  acquainted  with  him  all  my  life.  I 
wonder  why  Mary  didn't  like  him  any  better.  But  there, 
she  was  all  taken  up  with  somebody  else.  Well,  if  I  am 
going  to  have  company  to  tea,  I  had  better  be  at  work.  I 
wish  one  of  the  girls  was  here  to  help  entertain  him.  But 
then,  he  doesn't  need  much  entertaining;  he  can  look  out 
for  himself.  I  don't  know  but  that  is  one  reason  why  I 
like  him." 

Thus  soliloquizing,  Hannah  went  about  the  household 
work,  which  had  been  delayed  by  the  time  spent  with  her 
visitor.  As  they  sat  at  dinner  that  day,  she  mentioned  her 
guest  of  the  morning,  and  the  half  promise  with  which  he 
had  left  her. 

"  Well,  upon  my  word,"  said  Fanshaw, "  that  is  pleasant. 
I,  for  one,  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  him.  I  have  seldom 
met  a  person  who  interested  me  more ;  and  Lydia,  here, 
.  will  be  charmed,  no  doubt.  I  believe  he  was  a  prime  fa- 
vorite with  you,  young  lady." 

"  Yes ;  he  is  real  splendid,  Mr.  Fanshaw.  I  think  King 
James,  in  that  poem  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  you  read  to 
us  one  evening,  must  have  looked  just  as  he  does." 

" Hannah, do  you  hear  that?  Our  Lydia  is  growing  en- 
thusiastic. I  had  no  idea  of  the  impression  this  gentleman 
was  making  —  had  you  ?  " 


HILLSBOEO'    FARMS.  159 

"  Lydia's  fancies  were  always  odd.  She  hasn't  a  great 
many,  but  they  generally  mean  something  when  she  takes 
one." 

"  I  am  not  surprised  at  her  present  very  romantic  admi- 
ration. This  Mr.  Stafford,  unless  I  greatly  mistake,  is  ac- 
customed to  please  your  sex." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  He  was  born  for  it.  It  is  in  his  voice,  his  eyes,  in  every- 
thing ho  says  and  does.  Nature  has  given  him  the  gift  of 
charm ;  and  it  is  his  fault,  not  his  misfortune,  if  he  fails 
to  please.  What  time  will  he  be  here?" 

"  About  six.     Don't  be  late  to  tea." 

Hannah  was  busy  most  of  the  afternoon  with  prepara- 
tions for  the  reception  of  her  expected  guest ;  and  it  was 
evidence  of  the  high  place  he  held  in  her  regard,  that  she 
was  at  great  pains  in  arranging  her  supper.  The  best 
china,  in  bright,  old-fashioned  colors,  —  part  of  her  mother's 
wedding  outfit,  —  graced  the  table.  The  best  silver  and 
the  most  cherished  and  snowy  damask  were  brought  out 
and  arranged  with  scrupulous  care.  The  number  and  va- 
riety of  the  viands  also  attested  to  the  importance  of  the 
occasion,  and  would  have  tempted  the  most  fastidious  ap- 
petite. She  regretted  that  she  had  not  control  of  the  par- 
lor, but  was  in  some  measure  reconciled  to  the  deprivation 
by  Lydia's  assurance  that  "  men  folks  didn't  mind  such 
things  so  much  as  women  did." 

When  everything  was  ready,  she  seated  herself  by  the 
window  to  await  the  appeai-ance  of  Mr.  Stafford.  I  wish 
I  could  show  her  to  you  exactly  as  she  looked,  sitting  there 
in  the  gathering  winter  twilight.  She  was  not  handsome 
—  our  good  Hannah  ;  but,  in  the  midst  of  all  that  warmth 


160  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

and  comfort  evoked  by  her  hands,  she  was  a  most  attrac- 
tive object.  She  looked,  as  she  was,  the  fit  presiding  spirit 
of  such  a  place.  The  kindly  face,  the  neat  gown  of  brown 
merino,  the  smooth  hair  and  snowy  linen  collar,  the  strong, 
helpful  hands,  now  folded  placidly  in  her  lap,  the  look  of 
calm  content,  which  was  habitual  on  her  face,  —  all  were  in 
perfect  keeping  with  the  well-ordered  room,  the  warm  fire, 
and  with  the  atmosphere  of  peace  and  comfort  which  per- 
vaded the  apartment. 

Soon  "  the  children  "  arrived  from  school,  and  not  long 
after,  Fanshaw  appeared.  "What!  not  come  yet?"  he 
said  as  he  entered.  "  I  shall  be  more  disappointed  than  I 
care  to  own,  if  he  fails  to  keep  his  word." 

"  It  is  hardly  six  yet ;  and  I  shall  look  for  him  till  half 
past,"  Hannah  said. 

Just  then  there  was  a  sound  of  bells,  and  Lydia  ran  to 
the  window. 

"  Here  he  is ! "  she  cried.  "  No ;  it  is  only  Deacon 
Sharpe.  I  hope  he  won't  take  it  in  his  old  head  to  come 
in  here.  There,  he  has  gone  by." 

Another  minute  and  bells  were  again  heard.  This  time 
they  did  not  pass,  but  came  up  to  the  east  door,  and 
stopped.  Heman  went  to  the  door,  and  found  Mr.  Staf- 
ford just  alighting.  He  came  into  the  sitting-room,  and, 
as  Hannah  met  him,  he  exclaimed,  triumphantly,  — 

"  Let  no  enemy  of  mine  assert,  after  this,  that  I  am  in- 
capable of  punctuality.  Look  at  your  clock." 

"  We  will  give  you  credit  for  being  very  prompt,  though 
Lydia  was  confident  you  would  not  keep  your  promise." 

"  Miss  Lydia,  all  men,  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  are  held  in- 
nocent until  proved  guilty.  I  trust  you  will  regard  me  in 
the  same  lenient  fashion." 


HILLSBOUO'    FARMS.  161 

Fnnshaw  entered  at  this  moment,  and  the  greeting  be- 
tween the  two  gentlemen  was  very  cordial  —  on  Stafford's 
part,  gay.  Indeed,  he  appeared  to  be  in  most  exuberant 
spirits.  He  seemed  a  man  who  at  all  times  —  partly  from 
habit,  but  more  from  natural  temperament  —  could  catch 
the  pleasure  of  the  passing  hour,  fling  himself  into  the 
spirit  of  the  moment,  and  identify  himself  with  the  feel- 
ings and  the  interests  of  those  with  whom  chance  might 
place  him.  As  they  were  sitting  down  to  the  table,  he 
said,  turning,  with  a  whimsical  smile,  to  Mr.  Fanshaw,  — 

"  Are  you  a  believer  in  the  theory,  which  obtains  quite 
widely,  that  we  mortals  are  impelled  to  the  fulfilment  of 
certain  ends  by  the  influence  of  superior  intelligences  ?  " 

"  That  '  there's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends,  rough- 
hew  them  as  we  will '  ?  " 

"  That  is  not  the  idea,  precisely ;  but  that  some  special, 
kindly  intelligence  prompts  us  to  certain  acts  or  omissions, 
which  lead  to  important  consequences,  when  a  choice 
seemed  to  lie  with  us,  and  we  might  naturally  have  acted 
otherwise  than  we  did." 

"  Something  of  the  nature  of  guardian  angels  ?  Yes ; 
I  believe  I  am  half  a  convert  to  that  theory  of  late." 

"  I  am  wholly  a  convert.  Four  weeks  ago  I  sat  in  the 
parlor  of  a  public  house  in  Kiffton.  My  guardian  angel, 
disguised  as  the  bar-keeper,  —  and  he  was  very  well  dis- 
guised,—  brought  in  some  choice  cigars.  Enjoying  them, 
I  sat  over  the  fire  two  good  hours,  which,  if  spent  upon 
the  road,  would  have  taken  me  to  Edgehill  before  dark, 
and  lost  me  —  all  I  am  enjoying  now." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Lydia,  "  it  must  have  been  the  same 
spirit  that  jerked  open  our  wood-house  window  that  night, 
11 


162  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

and  made  cousin  Lucy  get  up  and  strike  a  light  to 
fasten  it." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  right,  Miss  Lydia.  It  is  quite 
apparent  that  the  beneficent  intelligence  in  question  in- 
tended to  bring  me  hither.  What  its  ultimate  design  in 
so  doing  could  have  been,  who  shall  tell  ?  " 

They  lingered  long  over  the  table,  the  changing  humor 
and  gay  fancies  of  their  guest,  Fanshaw's  genially  respon- 
sive mood,  and  Lydia's  lively  sallies  making  the  time  pass 
swiftly,  and  the  evening  was  well  advanced  when  they  ad- 
journed to  the  sitting-room. 

"  Come,  Miss  Lydia,"  said  the  visitor,  drawing  forward 
the  cherry-wood  work-stand,  and  seating  himself  beside  it 
in  a  large  arm-chair,  "  bring  the  backgammon-board :  we 
have  time  for  a  rubber  Before  I  must  go." 

"  Why  must  you  go  to-night  ?  "  said  Hannah.  "  Your 
room  is  all  ready  for  you,  and  you  know  we  should  be  very 
glad  to  have  you  stay." 

"  My  dear  friend,  do  not  urge  me.  If  you  do,  I  fear  I 
shall  consent  in  a  mortifyingly  short  space  of  time." 

"  Then  I  shall  keep  urging." 

"  Please  do  stay,  Mr.  Stafford,"  said  Lydia. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Fanshaw,  to  what  my  firmness  is  exposed. 
I  am  in  danger  of  yielding  without  a  struggle." 

"  Yield  gracefully,  then,  and  let  us  decide  for  you.  We 
are  quite  capable  of  doing  so  —  are  we  not,  Hannah  ?" 

There  the  matter  rested.  The  talk,  the  laughter,  and 
the  backgammon  went  on,  and  no  one  seemed  to  note  that 
the  evening  was  passing  rapidly  away,  until  some  remark 
was  caused  by  the  sound  of  sleigh-bells  without.  They 
were  evidently  approaching  the  house,  for  presently  the 


HILLSBOIIO'   FARMS.  163 

sound  of  runners  was  heard  crunching  on  the  snow-cov- 
ered drive,  and  then  the  steps  of  a  horse  at  the  door. 

"  I  wonder  who  that  can  be,"  said  Hannah. 

"  Perhaps  it's  Jerry,"  suggested  Heman ;  "  he  was  going 
to  the  Centre  to-night,  and  I  guess  he's  got  a  letter  from 
father." 

"  Those  were  not  uncle  Robert's  bells ;  and,  besides,  they 
came  down  the  hill.  There,  somebody  is  knocking.  Take 
a  candle,  Heman,  and  go  to  the  door." 

Heman  did  as  desired,  and  directly  a  man's  voice  was 
heard  outside,  asking  some  question,  immediately  after 
which  came  an  inquiry  for  Mr.  Stafford.  Heman  replied 
that  he  was  there,  and  asked  the  questioner  to  walk  in. 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  stranger's  voice,  Mr.  Stafford 
started  visibly,  and  his  countenance  changed.  He  may  or 
may  not  have  lost  a  shade  of  his  usual  color ;  but  a  look 
difficult  to  define  settled  on  his  face.  It  was  like  the  look 
of  a  man  suddenly  brought  to  bay  —  forced  unexpectedly 
to  meet  something  disagreeable  or  dangerous.  A  single 
troubled  glance  around,  as  if  he  would  have  escaped  had 
escape  been  possible,  and  then  his  lips  closed  firmly,  and 
his  brows  gathered  into  a  look  of  fixed  resolve. 

The  stranger  who  entered  was  a  florid,  pleasant-looking 
man  of  forty-five  or  fifty,  handsomely  and  carefully  dressed, 
and  altogether  of  a  very  prepossessing  appearance.  Mr. 
Stafford,  who  had  risen  as  he  advanced,  accepted  his  of- 
fered hand  with  a  scarcely  perceptible  air  of  restraint.  The 
salutations  which  passed  between  them  were  those  of  or- 
dinary acquaintances  —  polite,  but  not  familiar.  When 
they  were  over,  and  the  stranger  —  whom  he  introduced 
by  the  name  of  Lovell  —  turned,  with  a  few  courteous 


164  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

words,  to  Hannah,  Mr.  Stafford  sank  back  in  his  chair,  and, 
passing  his  hand  over  his  now  somewhat  pale  forehead,  a 
deep  breath  escaped  him.  Something  in  the  manner  or 
greeting  of  the  stranger  seemed  to  afford  him  inexpressible 
relief;  and  nothing  unusual  in  his  appearance  now  re- 
mained, except  that  he  was  a  shade  more  formal  than  with 
his  friends  of  the  farm-house.  He  continued  very 'quiet, 
his  hand  resting  on  the  backgammon  board,  and  his  fin- 
gers playing  idly  with  the  dice.  When  the  stranger  turned 
again  to  him,  he  said,  civilly,  — 

"  I  am  even  more  surprised,  Mr.  Lovell,  to  meet  you  in 
this  remote  region  than  to  find  myself  here." 

"  You  well  may  be.  But  the  truth  is,  I  had  the  ill  for- 
tune to  fall  heir,  through  the  will  of  an  uncle,  to  a  tract 
of  wild  land  some  fifty  miles  from  this.  Thus  far  this 
legacy  has  been  productive  of  nothing  but  trouble,  but  of 
that  it  has  yielded  a  plentiful  ci-op.  This  is  the  second 
journey  I  have  made  to  look  after  it,  and  I  think  it  will  be 
the  last  —  certainly  the  last  in  midwinter." 

"  You  will  never  make  an  Arctic  voyager,  Mr.  Lovell." 

"Fortunately,  I  have  no  ambition  leading  me  in  that 
way.  But  excuse  me  for  not  before  mentioning  my  reason 
for  intruding  upon  you  this  evening.  Being  at  Mr.  Gore's 
to-day,  he  mentioned  that  you  were  staying  with  him  ;  and 
it  occurred  to  me  that  you  could  undoubtedly  furnish  me 
with  some  information  on  a  matter  of  business  in  which  I 
am  interested.  As  I  could  obtain  this  much  better  in  person 
than  by  letter,  I  have  ventured  to  call,  Mr.  Gore  having 
told  me  that  I  might  possibly  find  you  here." 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy,  Mr.  Lovell,  to  be  of  any  service 
to  you  which  lies  in  my  power." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  1G5 

"  Thank  you."  And  the  stranger  proceeded  to  state  his 
errand,  which,  having  no  bearing  on  this  story,  need  not 
be  repeated.  They  talked  for  half  an  hour,  Mr.  Lovell  evi- 
dently getting  all  the  information  he  desired.  As  the  lat- 
ter rose  to  go,  he  said,  — 

"Mr.  Stafford,  I  am  greatly  indebted  to  you.  How 
much  longer  do  you  remain  in  this  far-away  region  ?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  tell.     Until  I  am  tired  of  it,  I  presume." 

"  Knowing  nothing  of  the  resources  of  Edgehill,  I  can, 
of  course,  make  no  estimate  as  to  how  soon  that  is  likely 
to  be.  Can  I  give  you  any  news  regarding  our  New  York 
friends  ?  We  have  a  few  in  common,  I  believe." 

"  I  am  so  much  a  stranger  there  of  late,  that  they  are, 
probably,  very  few.  Can  you  tell  me  anything  of  the  Law- 
tons  ?  —  the  Grant  Lawtons,  I  mean." 

"  Very  little.  They  are  to  sail  in  a  few  weeks  for  France 
—  a  plan  of  old  Mrs.  Lawton's." 

"  Do  you  see  Brainerd,  ever  ?  " 

"  Quite  seldom.  I  have  returned  to  bachelor  habits,  and 
see  but  few  people.  Mrs.  Lovell  went  to  Cuba  some  weeks 
since." 

"  Indeed  !     Did  she  go  alone  ?  " 

"  She  was  accompanied  by  our  daughter,  whose  health 
has  been  delicate  for  some  time.  Mrs.  Lovell  thought  her 
failing,  and  the  doctors  ordered  her  south.  We  hoped  the 
voyage  might  benefit  her.  Excuse  me,  madam,"  he  con- 
tinued, turning  to  Hannah,  "for  intruding  on  your  family 
so  unseasonably,  and  allow  me  to  wish  you  good  night.  — 
What  shall  I  say  I  left  you  doing,  Mr.  Stafford?" 

"  I  doubt  if  any  one  will  take  the  trouble  to  ask,"  Staf- 
ford replied,  rising  and  accompanying  his  guest  a  part  of 
the  way  to  the  door. 


166  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  That  is  an  excess  of  modesty,  I  am  sure.  No  farther, 
I  beg.  Good  evening." 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Lovell." 

When  the  stranger  was  gone,  the  game  of  backgammon 
was  renewed ;  but  now  Lydia  had  it  all  her  own  way.  Her 
antagonist  seemed  to  have  lost  all  his  skill.  He  sat  silent, 
his  eyes  bent  moodily  upon  the  board,  throwing  mechani- 
cally, but  with  his  thoughts  evidently  far  away.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  coming  of  the  stranger  had  diverted  them  from 
their  pleasant  channels  into  courses  rough  and  dark.  When 
the  game  was  ended,  he  pushed  the  board  away,  and  said,  — 

"  Now,  Heman,  if  you  will  let  me  have  my  horse,  I  shall 
be  obliged  to  you." 

"Why,  Mr.  Stafford!  you  promised  to  stay  all  night," 
cried  Lydia,  while  Hannah  also  protested  warmly  against 
this  decision. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  this  family  in  tears,  Mr.  Stafford  ?  " 
said  Fanshaw,  laughing. 

"My  dear  friends,  you  flatter  me.  But  the  truth  is,  I 
quite  forgot  a  promise  made  to  Mr.  Gore  to  return  to- 
night. I  know,  in  your  kindness,  you  will  forgive  me,  and 
let  me  go." 

"  Why,  if  you  must,  you  must,  I  suppose  ;  but  we  shall 
expect  you  to  come  another  time,  and  finish  up  this  visit." 

"  You  may  be  sure,  Miss  Page,  I  shall  not  fail  to  do  so, 
if  possible.  Miss  Lydia,  I  am  forgiven  —  am  I  not  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  about  forgiving  you.  I  don't  like  it 
one  bit." 

"  It  wrings  my  heart  to  think  you  are  offended  past  for- 
giveness. I  trust  to  time  to  soften  your  displeasure." 

"  We  shall  at  least  see  you  before  you  leave  Edgehill  ?  " 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  167 

Hannah  asked,  as  the  sound  of  the  sleigh  was  heard  at  the 
door. 

"  Certainly ;  I  shall  come  to  make  my  peace  with  your 
young  sister.  Good  by.  I  shall  not  soon  forget  all  I  have 
enjoyed  in  your  house.  Miss  Lydia,  I  postpone  our  rec- 
onciliation. Mr.  Fanshaw,  how  soon  do  you  leave  ?  " 

"  One  week  after  this,  and  I  bid  adieu  to  Hillsboro'." 

"  Then  I  may  not  see  you  again ;  let  us  shake  hands  to 
our  future  meeting.  Again,  farewell,  all ; "  and  he  was 
gone. 

As  they  came  back  into  the  sitting-room,  after  watching 
his  departure  from  the  door,  Lydia  exclaimed,  a  little  rue- 
fully,- 

"  I  don't  see  why  he  need  have  gone  to-night.  Mary 
and  Lucy  both  gone !  and  next  week  you  will  go !  O,  dear ! 
I  wish  people  could  always  stay  together.'** 

"  That  would  be  very  pleasant,  Lydia.  But  what  do  you 
think  the  gallant  Fitz  James  would  say  if  he  could  see 
your  doleful  face  now  ?  " 

"I  don't  care  what  he  would  say.  Good  night.  I  am 
going  to  bed." 

"  Our  friend  did  take  rather  a  sudden  departure  ;  didn't 
it  strike  you  so,  Hannah  ?  "  asked  Fanshaw,  when  they  were 
alone. 

"  Yes  ;  and,  between  you  and  me,  that  promise  was  got 
up  for  the  occasion." 

"  I  had  some  such  idea  myself.  That  Mr.  Lovell  seemed 
a  very  pleasant  man ;  but  I  do  not  think  his  coming  was, 
in  all  respects,  a  pleasure  to  Mr.  Stafford." 

"  I  thought  so.  Well,  the  children  have  left  us  early, 
seems  to  me.  And  so  you  are  going  next  week  ?  " 


168  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  hope  you  will  believe  me  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  shall  be  sincerely  sorry  to  go.  I  shall  retain  a  most 
grateful  recollection  of  my  stay  here." 

"  O,  I  can  readily  believe  that  you  will  remember  Hills- 
boro'  pleasantly,  and  without  feeling  much  flattered,  either." 

"  Ah,  you  are  unfair.  I  have  other  reasons  than  those  to 
which  you  refer  for  grateful  recollections  of  your  home. 
But  I  will  not  keep  you  up  to-night  to  listen  to  protesta- 
tions. You  look  too  tired  to  make  that  agreeable."  And 
he,  too,  went. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  1G9 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

.« 

DURING  the  remaining  days  of  Fanshaw's  stay,  he  saw 
Lucy  but  twice  —  once  on  Sunday  at  meeting  with  her 
father,  when  he  had  no  opport unity  even  for  a  word,  and 
once  the  day  before  he  left  Hillsboro',  when  he  went  to 
call  upon  her.  On  this  occasion  she  had  been  up  all  of  the 
preceding  night,  and  was  lying  down  when  he  arrived. 
Mrs.  Fraser  received  him,  and,  while  waiting  for  Lucy's 
appearance,  he  could  not  refrain  from  commenting,  with 
the  anxiety  of  genuine  friendship,  on  the  pale  and  wearied 
look  he  had  seen  her  wearing  on  Sunday.  Her  mother 
readily  accounted  for  this  by  the  young  girl's  unceasing 
care  of  her  grandmother,  and  told,  with  fond  maternal 
solicitude,  of  her  constant  watchings  by  the  invalid's  bed. 

Lucy's  hand  may  have  trembled  that  day,  as  she  stood 
in  her  own  room,  putting  up  the  long  braids  of  her  hair ; 
and  her  heart  beat  quickly  as  she  caught  the  sound  of  a 
well-known  voice  in  descending  the  stairs ;  but  both  were 
still  as  she  entered  the  room  to  meet  the  visitor.  Her 
greeting  was  marked  only  by  extreme  quiet,  her  mother 
sustaining  the  chief  burden  of  the  conversation.  Fanshaw 
did  not  stay  long,  feeling  that  more  than  a  brief  call  would 
be  intrusive.  On  leaving,  he  bade  Mrs.  Fraser  good  by, 
and  then,  turning  to  Lucy,  took  her  hand  in  both  his  own. 
Most  sincerely  he  expressed  his  regret  that  the  illness  of 


170  ,        BILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

one  she  loved  should  have  interfered  with  their  pursuit  of 
studies  which  both  had  enjoyed  so  much,  adding  a  hope 
that  their  pleasant  friendship  might  not  end  there,  but 
that  a  portion  of  her  regard  for  Mary  might  be  transferred 
to  himself.  Then,  raising  her  little  cold,  white  fingers  to 
his  lips,  he  bowed  and  was  gone.  Mrs.  Fraser  left  the 
room  at  the  same  time,  and  Lucy,  walking  to  the  window, 
leaned  her  aching  forehead  against  the  cold  pane,  and 
watched  his  retreating  figure  till  the  gathering  shadows  of 
twilight  received  and  hid  him  from  her  view.  When  he 
was  gone,  wholly  gone  from  her  sight,  she  sank  down  upon 
her  knees  beside  the  window,  and  a  low,  moaning  cry  of 
hopeless  anguish  escaped  her  lips. 

The  school  was  done,  and  Fanshaw  was  gone;  and  Han- 
nah was  now  in  daily  expectation  of  her  father's  return. 
Old  Mrs.  Fraser,  who,  it  was  now  quite  evident,  could  live 
but  a  short  time,  seemed  to  have  no  wish  ungratified  ex- 
cept to  see  her  son-in-law  again ;  and  Mr.  Page  had  accord- 
ingly been  sent  for  in  all  haste. 

It  was  well,  perhaps,  for  Lucy,  that  at  this  time  her  en- 
ergies were  taxed  to  the  utmost,  and  her  mind  and  heart 
filled  with  thoughts  for  others.  From  Mary  she  heard 
often,  and  learned  all  her  hopes  and  plans.  For  the  latter, 
the  wheel  of  fortune  had  made  a  complete  revolution. 
Almost  the  last  act  of  her  grandfather's  life  had  been  to 
order  his  daughter,  Miss  Dwight,  to  burn,  in  his  presence, 
the  will,  made  many  years  before,  from  whose  provisions 
Mrs.  Elliot  and  her  children  were  excluded.  It  had  been 
his  intention  to  make  a  new  testament,  differing  from  this 
in  some  slight  particulars ;  but  death  overtook  him  before 
that  design  was  carried  out.  His  wealth  was  shared 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  171 

equally  among  his  three  daughters,  and  Mary  was  now  rich 
enough  to  marry  when  she  pleased.  Fanshaw  had,  as  he 
expected,  been  admitted  to  the  bar,  and  to  a  partnership 
with  Mr.  Burke,  an  old  and  prominent  lawyer  at  Colches- 
ter. No  reason  existed  for  longer  delaying  their  marriage, 
and  the  approaching  month  of  June  was  appointed  for  the 
wedding.  Lucy  learned  all  this — we  can  scarcely  say 
unmoved,  but  with  no  shock  of  feeling.  She  had  endured 
the  worst,  and  nothing  further  seemed  of  any  moment 
to  her. 

Fanshaw  had  been  gone  two  weeks,  when,  one  after- 
noon, as  Hannah  and  Lydia  sat  at  their  sewing,  Mr.  Staf- 
ford suddenly  looked  in  upon  them.  To  their  eager 
inquiries  he  returned  answer  that  he  was  just  leaving 
Edgehill,  was  to  sail  in  a  week  for  Europe,  but  could  not 
think  of  going  without  one  word  of  farewell  to  his  kind 
friends.  He  laughingly  called  Hannah's  attention  to  the 
fact  that  the  young  barbarian,  "  Tate,"  alias  "  Figaro,"  was 
snugly  ensconced  in  his  sleigh  at  the  door,  that  young  per- 
son having  expressed  an  intention  of  remaining  with  him 
indefinitely,  and  of  accompanying  him  wherever  he  might 
go.  The  visitor  chatted  in  a  lively  manner;  seemed  alto- 
gether in  the  gayest  spirits ;  protested  he  must  not  stay,  as 
he  had  not-a  moment  to  spare  ;  yet  lingered  for  an  hour, 
and  was  only  driven  to  leave-taking  by  a  reasonable  fear 
of  being  too  late  to  catch  the  night  train  from  Kiffton. 

"Shall  we  ever  see  you  again,  Mr.  Stafford?"  asked 
Lydia,  rather  sadly. 

"  O^  yes,  Miss  Lydia.  I  shall  come  back  in  a  year  and  a 
day,  as  the  fairy  folk  always  do." 

"  I  hope  you  will ;  but  I'm  dreadfully  afraid  you  won't." 


172  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"What  shall  I  say  to  convince  you?  What!  tears  in 
those  bright  eyes,  and  on  my  account !  Dear  child,  you 
do  me  too  much  honor." 

The  words  were  light,  but  the  tone  was  full  of  genuine 
feeling,  and,  taking  her  hand,  he  touched  his  lips  lightly  to 
the  blushing  cheek  of  the  half-offended  girl.  Then,  with  a 
smile  that  was  a  little  sad,  he  turned  to  Hannah,  saying, — 

"Half  the  pleasure  of  finding  friends  is  dimmed  by  part- 
ing with  them.  Dear  Miss  Page,  do  not  forget  me;  I 
shall  always  remember  most  warmly  you  and  yours.  Good 
by ! "  and  he  went. 

Lydia  watched  him  out  of  sight.  "  I  don't  care,"  she 
said,  "if  I  did  cry.  I  felt  bad  enough  to.  I  wish  we  hud 
never  seen  him — just  to  come  and  make  us  all  like  him  so 
much,  and  then  off  to  the  ends  of  the  earth ;  and  there  is 
the  last !  That  is  always  the  way  with  people  I  like.  I 
can't  keep  one  of  them." 

Poor  Lydia  seemed  to  think  her  case  peculiar ;  but,  for- 
tunately for  her,  Mr.  Page  arrived  that  night,  and  in  the 
delight  of  again  seeing  her  father,  any  regrets  for  her  new 
friend  were  quite  driven  out  of  her  mind. 

Old  Mrs.  Frazer  seemed  to  have  lingered  only  to  see  once 
more  beside  her  this  member  of  her  family.  Two  days  after 
Mr.  Page's  arrival,  she  closed  her  gentle  eyes,.and  passed 
quietly  from  earth.  She  passed  away  clasping  the  hands 
of  the  two  she  loved  best  in  life ;  and  the  last  words  upon 
her  lips  were  a  murmured  charge  to  Lucy,  confiding  to  her 
love  and  care  the  old  man  whom,  after  fifty  years  of  com- 
panionship, she  was  leaving  widowed  and  alone. 

It  was  strange  what  a  void  her  departure  made  through 
all  the  house.  She  had  been  so  long  a  close  invalid, 


HILLSBOKO'    FARMS.  173 

scarcely  mingling  at  all  in  the  family  circle,  and  hers  was 
ever  such  a  quiet,  unobtrusive  presence,  it  might  have 
seemed  that  its  vanishing  could  make  little  difference.  Yet 
her  very  feebleness  had  made  her  the  central  object  of 
every  one's  thoughts  and  cares,  and,  when  she  was  gone, 
the  whole  house  seemed  empty ;  the  occupation  of  all 
seemed  gone.  For  a  time,  at  least,  this  was  so.  But,  as 
the  weeks  went  by,  and  the  waves  of  their  daily  life  set- 
tled back  into  the  old  unruffled  current,  it  began  to  be  ap- 
parent that  the  grief  for  her  los.s  was  far  from  being  felt 
alike  by  all.  Her  children,  kind  and  affectionate  as  they 
were,  and  tenderly  attached  as  they  had  been  to  their 
mother,  had  yet  their  strongest  ties  in  life  elsewhere  and 
unbroken.  For  them  there  were  hopes,  and  plans,  and 
enjoyments,  in  which  the  gentle  old  lady  had  no  share. 
But  for  the  old  man  who  mourned  the  partner  of  a  life- 
time, the  fond  watcher  for  his  return  after  every  period  of 
absence,  the  bride  of  his  youth,  the  mother  of  his  children, 
the  affectionate  companion  of  his  later  years,  —  for  him. 
there  was  no  such  solace.  Each  succeeding  day  seemed 
to  deepen  his  sense  of  loss.  He  would  talk  for  hours  with 
Lucy  of  the  departed,  finding  in  the  silent  sympathy  of  her 
mournful  face  his  greatest  comfort.  Never  had  these  two 
been  drawn  so  closely  together  as  now,  when  united  by 
the  bond  of  sorrow.  On  each  had  fallen  the  loss  of  what 
hud  seemed  to  make  the  chief  joy  of  existence.  For  one 
•\vas  ended  the  happy  reality  of  wedded  love ;  for  the  other, 
love's  rosy  morning  dream. 

At  length  the  old  man  began  to  grow  restless,  and  to 
talk  of  going  away  for  a  time.  At  first  his  children  paid 
little  heed  to  what  he  said,  scarcely  believing  he  could 


174  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

seriously  contemplate  anything  of  the  kind ;  but  when  he 
commenced  to  speak  definitely  of  one  more  voyage,  and 
to  discuss  plans  for  it,  they  became  alarmed.  Though  they 
did  not  openly  oppose  him,  they  saw  the  necessity  of 
taking  some  steps  to  alter  his  determination;  and  many 
and  anxious  were  the  family  councils  held  to  talk  over  this 
new  difficulty. 

One  cold  evening  in  the  latter  part  of  March,  Lucy  and 
her  father  were  walking  together  down  the  hill  towards 
the  Pages'.  There  had  been  a  long  silence  between  them, 
which  was  broken  by  Mr.  Fraser. 

"  Lucy,  cannot  you  do  something  to  get  your  grandfa- 
ther's mind  off  the  idea  of  going  to  sea  ?  He  seems  bent 
upon  it;  but  it  will  never  answer." 

"  Of  course  it  will  not  answer,  father,  for  him  to  go  to 
sea  as  he  used  to ;  but  don't  you  think  he  might  go  away 
somewhere,  and  stay  a  while,  and  come  back  happier?" 

"But  where  could  he  go,  child?" 

"  O,  I  don't  know !  Couldn't  he  go  and  visit  that  French 
friend  of  his,  and  stay  a  few  months  ?" 

"  Why,  Lucy !  your  idea  is  as  wild  as  his." 

"  No,  father ;  I  do  not  think  it  is  wild.  It  takes  but  a 
few  days  to  go  to  France  now,  and  a  steamer  is  as  nice  as 
a  hotel.  He  would  see  new  people  and  new  things,  and  it 
would  do  him  good." 

"  But  it  is  a  great  way  for  an  old  man  like  him  to  go 
alone." 

"He  would  not  go  alone,  father;  I  should  go  with  him." 

"  You  go  with  him !  Why,  Lucy,  you  are  crazy,  or  else 
you  think  I  am.  I  could  never  consent  to  your  leaving  us 
for  that  length  of  time." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  175 

"  Father,  you  would  not  refuse  me !  The  last  words  dear 
grandma  said,  she  made  me  promise  never  to  leave  grand- 
pa. You  will  not  make  me  break  my  promise ! "  cried  the 
poor  girl,  her  voice  broken  with  sobs. 

"Hush,  child!  Don't  cry  so,  my  little  Lucy!  I  will 
consent  to  anything,  if  you  will  only  look  happier.  Come, 
we  will  go  and  talk  with  Hannah  about  this ;  she  always 
has  a  clear  head." 

Hannah  was  accordingly  consulted,  and,  much  to  her 
uncle's  surprise,  she  sided  with  Lucy.  What  were  the  ar- 
guments she  used,  both  then  and  afterwards,  privately  and 
in  family  council,  to  convince  Lucy's  family  of  the  wisdom 
of  her  plan,  it  is  unnecessary  to  state  ;  but,  judging  from 
the  result,  they  were  eminently  forcible.  The  arrange- 
ment had  commended  itself  to  her  mind  at  once.  If 
change  of  occupation  and  of  scene  were  likely  to  be  of 
benefit  to  her  grandfather,  she  believed  they  were  even 
more  desirable  and  necessary  for  Lucy.  She  had  watched 
her  young  cousin  with  deep  anxiety.  The  state  of  listless, 
apathetic  melancholy,  into  which  the  latter  was  fast  sink- 
ing, alarmed  her.  She  felt  that  some  means  must  be  de- 
vised to  rouse  her  from  it ;  and  what  was  more  likely  to 
prove  effective  than  the  change  and  excitement  of  travel, 
the  sight  of  new  scenes  and  faces,  and  the  formation  of 
new  interests? 

She  carried  the  day  at  last.  The  plan  finally  decided 
upon  met  the  approval  of  all  parties.  It  was  that  Captain 
Fraser  and  Lucy  should,  about  the  middle  of  April,  leave 
Hillsboro'  for  New  York,  travelling  as  slowly  as  they 
pleased.  Thence,  when  all  arrangements  were  completed, 
they  were  to  sail  for  Havana,  where  the  captain  had  many 


176  HILLSBOEO     FARMS. 

Spanish  and  other -friends.  After  remaining" in  Cubans 
long  as  suited  their  pleasure,  they  were  to  proceed  to 
France,  spend  a  month  or  two  with  the  old  man's  friends 
there,  and  return  in  the  early  autumn. 

There  were  a  few  weeks  of  hurried  preparation,  and  then 
all  was  ready.  One  misty  April  evening,  when  the  warm 
earth  sent  up  a  smell  of  fresh  coming  life,  and  the  pale 
stars  shone  faintly  from  the  dusky  heavens,  Lucy  Fraser 
stood  on  the  front  doorstep  of  her  uncle's  house.  She  had 
Baid  good  by  to  her  uncle,  to  Lydia  and  Heman,  and  was 
now  parting  with  Hannah.  Her  arms  were  clasped  close 
about  her  cousin's  neck  as  she  whispered,  — 

"  Good  by,  dear  Hannah.  Go  often  and  see  father  and 
mother  —  will  you  not?  I  know  they  will  be  lonely ;  but 
I  shall  try  and  come  back  a  better  child,  and  think  more 
of  them  and  less  of  myself — more  like  you,  dear  Hannah." 

There  were  tears  in  Hannah's  kind  gray  eyes  as  she 
kissed  the  sweet  lips  of  the  young  girl ;  but  she  answered 
only  by  a  close  embrace  and  a  low  "  Good  by,"  and  Lucy 
darted  away  up  the  hill,  and  took  her  homeward  way  un- 
der the  soft  spring  sky. 

Early  the  next  morning,  as  Hannah  was  opening  the 
window  of  her  chamber,  she  heard  in  the  still,  morning  air 
the  quick  roll  of  wheels,  and,  bending  out,  she  was  just  in 
time  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  uncle  Robert's  carryall, 
driven  rapidly  past,  and  to  see  Lucy's  handkerchief  waving 
from  the  carriage  in  token  of  farewell. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  177 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IT  was  a  fair  morning  in  June,  and  from  a  heaven  of 
cloudless  blue  the  sun  poured  its  full  splendor  over  a  land- 
scape of  tranquil  beauty.  "With  eyes  that  rested  dreamily 
on  the  quiet  scene  before  her,  Hannah  Page  sat  in  the  front 
door  of  her  father's  house.  The  drooping  boughs  of  the 
butternut  tree  flung-  their  cool  shadows  round,  and  screened 
her  from  the  morning  sun.  All  down  the  hill-side,  and 
through  the  wide  valley,  the  green  and  velvet  fields  slept 
in  the  warm  and  lazy  light.  Her  eye  took  in  the  drowsy 
cattle  ruminating  in  shady  places,  marked  her  father  and 
his  men  at  their  labor  in  the  fields,  or,  wandering  far 
away,  followed  the  yellow  high  road  in  its  sinuous  wind- 
ings through  the  valley.  In  her  ear  sounded  the  ringing 
notes  of  an  oriole,  swinging  on  an  orchard  bough,  and  the 
delirious  warble  of  a  bobolink,  as  he  reeled  in  the  intoxi- 
cation of  his  summer  joy  across  the  sloping  clover  field, 
while  from  distant  pastures  .came  the  occasional  tinkle  of  a 
cow-bell,  mingling  with  the  far-off  shouts  of  children  at 
their  play.  The  frequent  forest  lines  were  rounded  with 
musses  of  full,  dark  verdure,  and  over  the  rough  faces  of 
the  Edgehill  crags  Summer  had  thrown  her  graceful  veil, 
tenderly  concealing  their  harsh  outlines,  and  heightening 
every  charm.  All  around  was  sweet  and  quiet.  The  green 
sward  at  her  feet,  starred  with  dandelions,  still  showed 
12 


178  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

sparkling  drops  of  dew ;  the  air  was  heavy  with  the  fra- 
grance of  lilacs ;  close  beside  her  the  great  green  balls  of 
the  peonies  were  ready  to  burst  into  brilliant  bloom,  and 
along  the  roadside  the  pretty  white  clovers  showed  their 
heads. 

Three  years  have  passed  since  we  last  saw  Hannah,  leav- 
ing on  her  calm  countenance  scarcely  a  trace  of  their  flight. 
In  peaceful  lives  like  hers,  the  lapse  of  years  is  marked 
mainly  by  the  change  in  surrounding  circumstances  —  they 
plough  no  deep  furrows  on  the  face.  But,  had  Hannah 
been  disposed  to  forget  how  time  was  passing,  the  appear- 
ance of  the  two  young  girls  now  approaching  from  up  the 
hill  might  have  refreshed  her  memory.  In.  one  of  these  it 
would  not  have  been  difficult  to  recognize  Lydia  Page,  al- 
though three  years'  time  had  transformed  her  from  a  plain 
girl  of  fifteen  to  a  very  pretty  one  of  eighteen.  Her  com- 
panion was  a  sweet-looking,  blue-eyed  maiden  of  about  her 
own  age  —  no  other  than  our  old  acquaintance,  Fanny 
Miller. 

"Well,  Lydia,"  said  Hannah,  as  they  drew  near,  "  what 
did  aunt  Susan  say  ?  " 

"  She  can't  go  to-day.  Uncle  Robert  is  gone  to  Edge- 
hill  with  the  only  horse  you  can  drive." 

"  When  can  she  go  ?  " 

"  Some  day  next  week.  But  she  said,"  continued  Lydia, 
seating  herself  on  the  doorstep,  "  that  she  wanted  to  see 
you,  and  wished  you'd  go  up  this  afternoon,  if  you  could  — 
wants  your  valuable  advice  about  something,  I  believe. 
Come  in,  Fan  ;  you  are  surely  not  going  home  now,  right 
in  the  heat  of  the  day." 

"I  must,  Lydia.     I  ought  to  have  gone  two  hours  ago, 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  179 

instead  of  up  to  Mrs.  Eraser's  with  you.  Shall  you  come 
down  to-morrow?" 

"  Good  gracious,  Fanny !  don't  ask  Lydia  to  go  any- 
where. She  has  got  enough  to  do  to  keep  her  close  at 
home  all  summer.  If  girls  will  get  married  they  must  take 
the  consequences.  I  have  advised  her  all  along  to  put  it 
on0  a  couple  of  years." 

"  If  you  can't  make  her  hear  reason,  why  don't  you  say 
something  to  Ben  ?  " 

"  He  is  no  more  open  to  conviction  than  she  is.  Have 
you  been  up  to  the  house  lately  ?  " 

"  Mother  and  I  rode  up  last  week." 

"How  does  your  mother  like  it?" 

"  Very  much,  particularly  the  chambers ;  they  are  so  high 
•and  airy.  Hannah,  who  is  that  coming  up  the  hill  ?" 

"That  is  just  what  I  am  looking  to  see.  Nobody  I 
know." 

"  It  must  be ;  for,  see,  the  lady  is  waving  her  handker- 
chief to  you." 

"  So  she  is.  Why,  it  is  Mary  Fanshaw,  .as  sure  as  you 
are  alive ;  and  that  is  her  husband  with  her." 

The  carnage  which  was  approaching  did  indeed  contain 
Ralph  and  Mary  Fanshaw,  and  their  child,  a  boy  of  some- 
thing less  than  two  years.  In  the  graceful,  fashionably- 
dressed  lady  alighting  at  the  farm-house  door,  it  is  easy  to 
recognize  the  Mary  Elliot  of  former  years,  grown  hand- 
somer, if  anything  —  beautiful  with  the  reflection  of  new 
and  ennobling  experiences.  In  the  person  and  appearance 
of  Fanshaw,  as  he  talks  gayly  with  Hannah,  is  apparent 
less  of  the  dreamy  indolence  that  once  characterized  him, 
and  more  of  the  ambitious,  hard-working  man  of  business, 


180  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

who  lays  down  the  harness  of  life  only  when  he  returns  to 
the  circle  of  home. 

"  Fasten  your  horse  to  the  hitching-post  'there,  Mr.  Fan- 
shaw,  and  come  right  in  ;  the  men  folks  will  be  up  soon 
and  take  care  of  him." 

'•  Thank  you,  Hannah  ;  but  I  cannot  stop.  I  have  to  go 
to  Edgehill  to  attend  a  justice  court,  and  must  be  there  by 
eleven  o'clock.  Mary  will  spend  the  day  with  you,  and  I 
shall  come  back  for  her  to-night." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  going,  Ralph  ;  you  talk  all  the  time, 
and  leave  me  no  opportunity  whatever." 

"  You  see  how  it  is,  Hannah  ;  when  we  are  with  you  we 
both  want  your  ear,  and  if  we  are  ever  in  danger  of  quar- 
relling, it  is  on  these  occasions.  Who  was  that  pretty  girl 
we  met  as  we  came  up  the  hill  ?  " 

" That  was  Fanny  Miller :  don't  you  remember  her?" 

"I  thought  her  face  familiar.  She  looks  like  Ben.  By 
the  way,  where  is  Lydia  ?  " 

"  She  has  gone  in  with  little  Elliot." 

"  Yes,  Ralph..;  she  disappeared  at  the  first  mention  of  the 
Millers.  But  allow  me  to  remind  you,  sir,  that  if  you  are 
in  a  hurry  to  get  to  Edgehill,  you  had  best  drive  on." 

"  Very  good  advice,  Mrs.  Fanshaw,  which  I  shall  proceed 
to  act  on  at  once.  Tell  Lydia  I  have  a  great  deal  to  ask 
her  when  I  come  back.  Good  morning.  Take  care  of  the 
boy,  Mary ;  don't  let  him  break  his  neck  while  I  am  gone ; " 
and  with  a  smile  and  a  nod  he  drove  away. 

Mary  and  Hannah  turned  into  the  entry,  and  the  latter 
said,  as  she  opened  the  parlor  door,  "  Come  in  here,  Mary ; 
you  must  be  tired  and  warm." 

The  room  was  deliciously  cool,  and  sweet  with  the  fra- 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  181 

grance  of  lilacs,  which,  arranged  in  a  quaint  blue  china 
jar,  nearly  filled  the  fireplace.  Mary  threw  off  her  bonnet, 
and  sat  clown  In  a  large  arm-chair. 

"  Ah !  how  quiet  and  pleasant  it  is  here,  and  how  un- 
changed everything  looks !  If  it  were  not  for  little  Elli- 
ot's voice  in  the  other  room,  I  could  almost  believe  it  to  be 
four  years  ago,  and  that  I  have  just  come  from  the  old 
school-house  down  the  hill.  And  the  thought  of  that  sum- 
mer brings  me  to  the  Frasers.  How  are  they  all  at  your 
uncle's?" 

"  Very  well  indeed.  There  is  nobody  at  home  but  uncle 
and  aunt,  and  the  hired  folks,  you  know." 

"I  suppose  so.  And  when  do  your  grandfather  and 
Lucy  propose  to  come  back  ?  " 

"  Well,  Mary,  I  don't  know ;  I  think  sometimes  they 
never  will." 

"  Hannah,  what  is  the  reason  they  have  staid  away  so 
long?  They  are  fond  of  their  home." 

"  Yes  ;  but  everything  has  conspired  to  keep  them.  At 
the  end  of  the  first  six  months  grandfather  was  not  willing 
to  come,  and  their  return  was  put  off  till  the  next  spring. 
Then  they  wrote  that  they  were  going  to  England  for  a 
while,  and  should  sail  for  home  about  midsummer.  Next, 
they  took  it  in  their  heads  to  make  a  little  tour  in  Scot- 
land ;  and  there  Lucy  got  nearly  drowned  while  out  sailing 
on  a  lake,  as  I  told  you,  and  was  sick  for  some  time  in 
consequence.  It  was  during  that  sickness  that  she  first 
knew  Mrs.  Fleming,  an  American  lady,  who  was  kind  as  a 
mother  to  her.  She  got  well  quite  slowly,  and  the  doc- 
tors said  it  would  be  very  imprudent  to  take  her  back  to 
our  cold  climate  in  the  autumn,  and  advised  a  winter  in 


182  HILLSBOBO'    FARMS. 

the  south  of  France  or  Spaia.  Mrs.  Fleming  was  going 
to  Spain  to  visit  a  brother  who  lives  there,  and  they  all 
went  together." 

"  That  brings  it  up  to  a  year  ago  this  spring,  when  you 
were  at  Colchester.  What  happened  next  ?  " 

"  Well,  they  kept  writing  that  Lucy  was  quite  well  again, 
and  that  they  were  coming  with  the  warm  weather ;  and, 
just  as  we  were  expecting  them  every  day,  came  a  letter, 
saying  that  their  return  must  be  postponed  indefinitely. 
You  know  that  a  great  deal  of  their  time  has  been  spent 
with  the  Lascaux  family,  those  friends  of  grandfather's. 
Before  starting  for  home,  they  went  to  Marseilles  to  say 
good  by ;  and  there  they  found  Mr.  Maurice  Lascaux,  son 
of  £he  old  captain  and  father  of  all  the  young  people  Lucy 
is  so  fond  of,  on  his  death-bed.  He  died  in  a  few  days 
after,  leaving  his  children  to  his  father's  care.  The  old 
man  has  been  a  cripple  for  several  years,  and  the  eldest 
child  is  a  girl  of  nineteen." 

"  And  I  suppose  that  dear  old  grandfather  of  yours  had 
to  stay  and  take  care  of  the  poor  souls." 

"  Exactly,  Mary.  Mr.  Lascaux  had  been  an  East  India 
merchant,  and  his  affairs  were,  somehow,  in  a  great  snarl 
at  the  time  of  his  sudden  death.  There  was  property 
enough  if  it  was  taken  care  of;  but  it  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary that  somebody  should  go  to  Calcutta,  or  Madras,  or 
wherever  it  was,  and  attend  to  the  settlement  of  the  busi- 
ness, or  the  poor  little  orphans  and  the  helpless  old  man 
would  have  little  or  nothing.  So  grandfather  offered  to  go." 

"  So  like  him !     But  what  became  of  Lucy  meantime  ?  " 

"  She  went  with  him,  of  course.  They  are  perfectly  in- 
separable. They  came  back  to  Marseilles  last  April,  and 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  183 

now  they  write  they  shall  be  off  for  home  as  soon  as  Julie 
Lascaux  is  married.  We  don't  allow  ourselves  to  expect 
them  in  the  least,  though  the  first  of  July  is  the  time  set 
for  their  coming." 

"  Do  you  imagine  that  Lucy  will  be  a  great  deal  changed, 
Hannah  ?  " 

"  O,  she  will  be  altered,  of  course  —  in  some  respects  a 
good  deal,  perhaps.  You  have  never  seen  that  picture  of 
her  taken  just  before  she  went  to  India  ?  " 

"No;  is  it  like  her?" 

"  I  suppose  it  must  be.  She  wrote  that  the  Flemings 
and  Lascaux,  and  all  her  friends,  thought  it  perfect.  It 
was  painted  in  Paris  by  a  great  artist ;  so  of  course  jt  is 
good.  There  is  just  the  head  and  neck ;  the  shoulders 
fade  away  into  a  sort  of  cloud.  It  is  a  beautiful  picture, 
though  hardly  our  Lucy.  But,  the  same  or  changed,  grand- 
father is  just  as  pi'oud  of  her  as  ever.  In  his  last  letter 
he  said  there  was  a  young  French  lawyer,  who,  if  he  could 
plead  his  own  cause  as  well  as  he  did  other  people's,  would 
make  trouble  for  the  folks  on  the  hill.  I  don't  know  but 
it  would  kill  uncle  Robert  if  Lucy  should  marry  a  foreigner." 

"  You  thought  a  year  ago  there  was  a  chance  of  her  mar- 
rying Mrs.  Fleming's  son." 

"  Horace  Fleming  ?  O,  yes  ;  I  did  think  so,  and  do  now, 
sometimes.  Should  like  that  better  than  the  Frenchman." 

"  And  we  all  thought  she  liked  Ben  Miller,  and  would 
marry  him." 

"  Yes,  I  know  we  did  ;  but  we  were  mistaken,  you  see  ; 
and  I  think  Ben  is  much  better  mated  with  Lydia  than 
with  Lucy." 

"Perhaps  so;  but  I  know  so  little  of  Lucy  of  late  that 


184  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

I  can  scarcely  judge.  We  have  never  corresponded  since 
she  left  home." 

"How  does  that  happen  ?" 

"  Partly  throxigh  negligence,  but  more,  probably,  through 
preoccupation  on  both  sides.  I  have  frequently  wished  to 
write,  but  would  not  know  her  address  at  the  time,  and 
that  was  the  end.  But  when  is  Lydia  to  be  married  ?  " 

"  In  October,  if  Ben  gets  his  house  ready,  and  she  gets 
her  sewing  done.  She  has  her  wedding  dress  in  the  house 
now;  shall  I  show  it  to  you?" 

"  By  all  means." 

Hannah  rose  and  went  into  the  bedroom  adjoining  the 
parlor,  whence  she  soon  reappeared,  bringing  a  parcel  care- 
fully wrapped  in  tissue  paper.  Sitting  down  beside  Mary, 
she  unrolled  to  her  admiring  eyes  yards  of  India  muslin, 
of  cloud-like  delicacy,  and  enriched  with  exquisite  em- 
broidery. 

"  Beautiful !     Where  did  she  get  it,  Hannah  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  best  part  of  it,  Mary.  It  was  a  present ; 
and,  as  you  can  never  guess  from  whom,  I  may  as  well 
tell  you.  Don't  you  remember  that  winter  you  were  here, 
there  was  a  man  staid  with  us  two  or  three  days  through 
a  storm  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  I  remember  him  perfectly.  His  name  was 
Stafford.  Ralph  liked  him  very  much,  and  often  speaks 
of  him.  Did  he  give  this  to  Lydia? " 

"Yes." 

"  Then  you  have  seen  him  again  ?  " 

"  No ;  this  was  sent  from  a  Boston  express  office ;  but 
the  note  that  came  with  it  was  dated  at  Paris,  a  month  or 
six  weeks  before.  Lydia  has  the  note  somewhere  ;  she  will 


HILLSBOltO'    FARMS.  185 

show  it  to  you.  In  speaking  of  the  muslin,  he  said  he  knew 
nothing  of  feminine  apparel  until  it  was  worn,  and  he  had 
depended  upon  a  lady,  acknowledged  to  have  faultless 
taste,  to  select  for  him,  otherwise  he  should  expect  to  make 
some  fatal  mistake.  It  was  a  very  pretty  note  —  sounded 
just  like  him.  And  isn't  the  dress  pretty,  too? " 

"  It  is,  indeed ;  and  are  you  aware  that  it  is  quite  expen- 
sive?" 

"  I  thought  it  might  be.  I  don't  know  much  about  such 
things.  You  see  Lydia  has  had  it  nearly  two  years.  She 
didn't  make  it  up  at  first,  because  she  was  growing  still ;  and 
at  last  she  concluded  to  keep  it  to  be  married  in." 

"It  will  make  a  beautiful  bridal  dress,  and  Lydia  will 
look  charmingly  in  it.  It  was  an  odd  idea,  his  sending  it." 

"  Perhaps  it  was ;  but  he  seemed  to  take  a  great  fancy  to 
Lydia.  We  like  to  laugh  at  Ben  about  him.  But  he 
doesn't  trouble  himself  much  about  her  fancies." 

"  He  has  no  reason,  I  presume.  But  if  I  were  a  man,  I 
should  not  want  my  wife  or  sweetheart  to  admire  such  a 
person  too  much." 

"  Why,  Mary !  don't  you  think  he  was  a  good  man  ?  " 

"  O,  I  dare  say.  I  did  not  mean  anything  to  the  con- 
trary. But  he  was  one  of  those  singularly  fascinating  men 
against  whom  ordinary  persons  would  find  it  difficult  to 
compete.  Bless  me!  Lydia  is  calling  us  to  dinner;  and 
there  come  your  father  and  Henian." 


186  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  day  passed  very  pleasantly  to  Mary ;  yet  there  was 
one  whom  she  missed  constantly.  So  intimately  associated 
was  Lucy  Fraser  with  all  her  memories  of  Hillsboro'  that 
she  felt  her  absence  everywhere ;  and  again  and  again  she 
expressed  her  impatience  at  the  latter's  long  delay,  and 
her  eager  desire  to  look  once  more  upon  the  face  of  the 
dear  wanderer.  As  they  sat  together,  towards  the  close 
of  the  afternoon,  Hannah  proposed  to  walk  up  to  her 
uncle's ;  but  Mary  declined. 

"  No,  Hannah ;  I  cannot  think  of  going  to  the  house,  to 
find  neither  Lucy  nor  your  grandfather." 

"  You  would  scarcely  miss  them  through  a  short  call.  It 
always  seems  to  me,  when  I  go  there,  that  they  must  be 
about  somewhere.  Grandfather's  cane  stands  in  its  old 
place  in  the  entry ;  and  on  the  rack  is  a  straw  hat  of  Lucy's, 
as  if  she  had  hung  it  there  an  hour  ago.  Everything  is 
just  as  she  left  it;  her  books  lie  about  with  the  leaves 
turned  down  where  she  read  them  last ;  her  chamber,  even 
her  work-box,  are  undisturbed." 

"  Yet  I  prefer  to  wait  till  July  and  see  herself.  Who 
could  have  dreamed,  when  we  were  last  together,  and  she 
planned  so  gayly  to  visit  me,  of  all  that  would  come  and 
go  before  we  met  again  ?  I  remember  that  her  father  cut 
five  from  the  six  weeks  we  had  allotted  for  that  visit, 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  187 

because,  he  said,  he  could  not  spare  her  so  long.  Ah !  how 
pretty  she  was  that  day,  and  how  full  of  bright  young 
life !  Hannah,  do  you  know  that  I  almost  dread  to  see 
Lucy?" 

"  Dread  to  see  her !     Why  so  ?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  tell ;  yet  it  seems  to  me  that  she  will  be 
entirely  changed  —  that  I  shall  have  lost  my  friend.  Lucy 
was  a  strange  girl ;  I  sometimes  think  we  none  of  us  knew 
her  as  she  really  was." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  still,  I  think  I  knew  her  pretty  well, 
and  I  will  venture  to  say  that  you  will  not  find  the  change 
so  great  as  you  fear." 

" I  sincerely  hope  you  know  best.  Look!  there  comes 
Ralph  down  the  hill  this  minute ;  and  I  wonder  who  is  with 
him.  Why,  it  is  Singleton  Burke  !  Where  could  he  have 
found  him  ?  " 

Both  Mary  and  Hannah  went  to  the  door  as  Fanshaw 
drove  up. 

"  Ah,  Ralph,  you  are  early.  Hannah,  you  have  not  for- 
gotten our  friend,  Mr.  Burke  ?  "  said  Mary,  as  a  dignified- 
looking  gentleman,  a  little  older  than  Fanshaw,  approached 
the  doorstep. 

"  Certainly  not ;  and  I  am  very  glad  to  see  him  again. 
Come  in,  Mr.  Burke." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Page,"  answered  the  gentleman  ad- 
dressed, following  her  into  the  parlor.  "  I  am  expecting  my 
horse  along  every  moment.  I  left  him  for  my  boy  to  drive 
down,  while,  for  the  sake  of  a  companion,  I  took  a  seat 
with  Fanshaw." 

Singleton  Burke  was  the  son  of  Fanshaw's  old  friend 
and  partner,  Mr.  Burke  of  Colchester.  Still  comparatively 


188  HILLSBORO     FARMS. 

young  in  years,  his  talents,  his  dignity  of  character,  and 
doubtless,  too,  his  worldly  success,  had  given  him  a  kind 
of  prominence  not  usually  achieved  by  men  of  his  age. 
Though  unmarried,  he  maintained  an  establishment  of  his 
own,  occupying  a  fine  old  house  left  him  by  a  bachelor 
uncle.  Between  this  person  and  the  Fanshaws  there  ex- 
isted a  strong  friendship.  He  was  a  reserved  man,  in  gen- 
eral, had  few  intimates,  and  went  little  into  mixed  society ; 
but  he  was  a  constant  and  familiar  visitor  at  their  house, 
where  Hannah  had  often  met  him. 

Mr.  Burke's  horse  did  not  arrive  as  expected,  and,  sup- 
per being  announced,  he  accepted  an  invitation  to  join  the 
family  at  their  meal. 

"  Now,  really,  Hannah,  this  is  very  pleasant,"  said  Fan- 
shaw,  as  they  sat  round  the  table.  "  Do  you  know,  I  think 
I  shall  never  wear  off  the  feeling  I  have  of  coming  home 
whenever  I  come  back  to  Hillsboro'  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  hope  you  never  may,  Mr.  Fanshaw.  This 
is  one  of  your  homes,"  Hannah  said,  while  Burke  turned  to 
Mary,  with  a  smile. 

"  There  are  many  delightful  associations  connected,  in 
your  husband's  mind,  with  this  place,  I  believe,  Mrs.  ¥an- 
shaw." 

"  O,  you  must  not  attempt  to  make  me  responsible  for 
any  nonsense  Ralph  may  have  talked  to  you  about  Hills- 
boro'. One  thing,  however,  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  impress 
upon  you :  this  is  a  very  dangerous  place  for  unwary 
bachelors." 

"  You  would  have  me  take  warning  from  Ralph's  un- 
timely fate  ?  But  I  trust  you  exaggerate  the  danger.  How 
is  it,  Miss  Page  ?  You  should  know." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  189 

"  Perhaps  I  am  not  a  good  judge,  Mr.  Burke.  We  have 
a  good  many  pretty  girls  in  Hillsboro' ;  and  we  think  a 
man  would  be  hard  to  suit  who  could  not  please  himself 
here." 

"  And  if  at  any  time  you  should  desire  it,  you  shall  have 
the  benefit  of  our  personal  influence,"  said  Mary. 

"  Indeed,  you  are  very  kind.  I  will  not  fail  to  claim  your 
assistance,  should  it  become  necessary,"  answered  the  gen- 
tleman, greatly  amused,  Mary  thought,  at  an  idea  so  pre- 
posterous in  his  case. 

"You  are  very  confident,  Singleton,"  said  Fanshaw, 
laughing ;  "  but  a  man  never  knows  when  he  is  in  danger 
of  that  kind ;  so  look  out,  old  fellow." 

Mr.  Burke's  horse  arrived  while  they  were  at  table  ;  Fan- 
shaw's  was  brought  round  soon  after,  and  the  guests  took 
their  departure.  When  they  were  gone,  Hannah  said  to 
her  sister,  — 

"  Now,  Lydia,  if  you  will  see  to  putting  away  the  things, 
and,  when  the  milk  comes  in,  look  after  Becky  a  little, 
just  to  make -sure  she  takes  care  of  it  properly,  I  will  go 
up  to  aunt  Susan's  a  little  while.  I  dare  say  she  is  won- 
dering why  I  haven't  been  before." 

"  Very  well ;  but  you  had  better  hurry  off.  It  is  almost 
sundown  now." 

Hannah  tied  on  her  gingham  sun-bonnet,  and  took  her 
way  up  the  hill  towards  her  uncle's.  The  evening  was 
beautiful,  as  the  day  had  been.  Far  as  the  eye  could  reach, 
the  fields  and  forests  were  clothed  with  the  intense  green 
of  early  summer,  here  deepened  into  blue  shadows,  there 
buraished  with  the  slant  golden  sunshine.  The  far  moun- 
tains, where  the  sun  was  setting,  were  veiled  in  purple 


190  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

haze.  A  few  small  clouds,  like  flecks  of  gold,  floated  above 
the  sun ;  but  for  these  the  sky  was  cloudless.  The  air  was 
sweet  with  countless  flowers,  and  filled  with  the  evening 
songs  of  birds.  Swarms  of  insects  danced  up  and  down 
in  the  yellow  light,  and  night-hawks  wheeled  in  great 
circles  overhead,  or  swooped  down  on  their  prey  with  that 
dull  whirr  of  wings  peculiar  to  their  tribe.  She  met  bare- 
footed boys,  who  whistled  as  they  went,  driving  home 
sleek,  sweet-breathed  cows ;  or,  now  and  then,  a  neighbor 
passed  her,  jogging  slowly  home  from  the  Centre,  or,  per- 
haps, from  Colchester,  behind  a  fat,  lazy  mare,  at  whose 
side  ambled  a  frisky,  long-legged  colt. 

The  sun  was  just^disappearing  as  Hannah  stepped  upon 
the  broad  granite  door-stone  in  front  of  her  uncle's  house. 
The  drooping  elms  that  shadowed  the  little  lawn  were 
clothed  with  luxuriant  foliage,  and  the  graceful  Persian 
lilacs  were  in  profuse  bloom.  A  trumpet  honeysuckle  clam- 
bered up  one  side  of  the  green  trellis  over  the  door,  and 
the  dark,  shining  leaves  of  the  Virginia  creeper  covered 
the  other,  while  clustering  roses  and  syringas  gave  promise 
of  future  blossom  and  fragrance.  Hannah  paused  a  mo- 
ment to  look  back  over  the  scene,  before  she  pushed  open 
the  Venetian  summer  doors  and  entered.  She  found  her 
aunt  in  the  kitchen,  superintending  the  labors  of  two  stout 
young  women. 

"  Is  that  you,  Hannah  ?  "  she  said,  as  her  niece  appeared. 
"  I  had  about  given  you  up." 

"  I  suppose  so ;  but  we  had  company,  and  I  couldn't  get 
away  before." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  have  you  come  now.  We  will  go 
up  stairs,"  continued  the  elder  lady,  leading  the  way  \ip 


HILLSBORO*   FARMS.  191 

the  broad  staircase.  "I  want  to  show  you  the  new  curtains 
in  Lucy's  chamber  while  we  are  talking." 

The  curtains  were  exhibited  and  admired,  and  Lucy's 
coining  discussed  in  the  doubting,  half-despairing  manner 
in  which  they  had  come  to  think  of  that  possible  event ; 
and  then  followed  a  long  consultation  on  some  important 
family  question.  Hannah  was  the  person  to  whom  appeal 
was  always  made  in  every  time  of  perplexity,  her  unfailing 
sense  and  shrewdness  being  fully  appreciated  among  her 
relatives.  At  length,  when  they  had  exhausted  the  topic 
under  consideration,  Mrs.  Fraser  rose,  and,  carefully  closing 
the  blinds,  said,  — 

"  There  ;  we  must  shut  the  room  up  again  for  a  week  or 
two.  I  have  kept  it  just  as  the  dear  child  left  it,  and  all 
is  ready  now,  except  some  tassels  for  her  little  book-shelves. 
Desire  Sharpe  went  to  the  Centre  this  afternoon,  and  said 
she  would  get  them  for  me.  I  am  looking  for  her  every 
minute  now;  and  I  do  hope  she  will  brfcg  me  a  let- 
ter, too." 

"  There  is  somebody  coming  up  to  the  door  now,  aunt ; 
I  guess  it  is  the  deacon,"  said  Hannah,  looking  through  the 
blinds. 

"  Yes ;  that  looks  like  the  deacon's  horse.  We  will  go 
down.  Be  careful  how  you  step.  Mary  Jane  has  been 
putting  down  the  stair  carpet  to-day,  and  I  believe  she  has 
left  it  a  little  loose  there." 

There  were  no  lamps  lighted  yet,  and  the  faint  twilight 
revealed  a  woman  standing  in  the  entry,  while  the  tall 
figure  of  a  man  filled  the  doorway. 

"  Good  evening,  Desire.  I  hope  you  have  brought  me 
a  letter.  Pray,  walk  in,  Deacon  Sharpe,"  Mrs.  Fraser  said, 


192  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

advancing.    But  she  was  startled  by  a  sweet,  familiar  voice, 

exclaiming,  — 

"  Mother !  dear,  dear  mother !  don't  you  know  me  ?  " 
The  next  moment  she  held  her  long-lost  daughter  in 

her  arms,  and  Hannah,  sober  Hannah,  was  crying  on  her 

grandfather's  neck. 


HILLSBOKO'    FARMS.  193 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

WHAT  a  change  the  return  of  the  two  wanderers  made 
in  the  old  home !  To  Lucy's  father  and  mother  it  was 
happiness  enough  to  realize  her  presence,  to  see  her  filling 
again  the  old  familiar  places,  and  to  hear  her  gay  voice 
waking  once  more  the  echoes  of  the  still  house.  They 
marked  her  strong,  lithe  figure,  noted  the  hues  of  health 
upon  her  cheek,  caught  the  sunshine  of  her  smile,  and  look- 
ing in  her  fond  and  happy  eyes,  said,  "  She  is  the  same  — 
she  is  our  own  dear  Lucy  come  back  to  us  again."  The 
neighbors  and  her  young  companions  said, "She  has  grown 
older,  and  a  little  steadier,  to  be  sure ;  but  she  has  the 
same  pretty  way  with  her  she  always  had."  Lydia  saw  her 
cousin,  and  pronounced  her  more  adorable  than  ever.  Ben 
Miller,  when  the  tones  of  her  voice  first  struck  his  ear,  ex- 
perienced something  of  the  old-remembered  thrill.  It  was 
transient,  however.  It  may  be  that  simple  Ben  was  quicker 
of  perception  than  some  of  those  around  him ;  at  least,  it  is 
certain  that  when  Lucy  laid  her  little  soft  hand  in  his,  so 
large  and  brown,  and  spoke  a  few  sweet  words  of  greeting 
and  cordial  congratulation,  he  smiled  a  little  faintly  at  the 
folly  which  had  once  led  him  to  believe  he  could  win  her 
for  his  wife,  and  turned  to  Lydia  with  entire  content. 

Day  by  day,  as  Lucy  became  again  familiar  with  home 
life,  and  fell,  by  degrees,  into  its  quiet  routine,  Hannah 
13 


194  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

watched  her  with  observant  eyes,  waiting  patiently  for  a 
fuller  comprehension  of  the  change  which  she,  at  least, 
could  see  in  her  young  cousin.  This  change  it  is  difficult 
to  define ;  indeed,  it  was  not  so  much  a  change  as  a  matter 
of  growth  to  which  different  circumstances  had. contrib- 
uted. The  hard  experience  of  her  early  grief  had  not  been 
without  its  benefit.  The  knowledge  of  the  emotion  from 
which  that  grief  had  sprung  left  its  influence  long  after 
both  the  love  and  the  sorrow  that  followed  it  were  things 
of  the  past.  As  the  trouble  of  her  spirit  subsided,  new  en- 
ergies were  born  in  her ;  as  the  mists  of  sorrow  were  dissi- 
pated, her  vision  became  clearer.  After  a  time,  serenity 
returned  to  her,  and,  by  degrees,  amid  new  lands  and 
scenes,  all  the  old  elastic  joyousness  of  spirit,  but  tem- 
pered now  by  a  sweet  thoughtfulness.  The  depths  of  her 
nature  had  been  stirred,  not  exhausted ;  and  she  was  half 
surprised,  at  times,  to  recognize  in  herself  a  capacity  for 
pure  and  high  emotion  of  which  her  youth  had  but  dimly 
hinted.  Existence  had  come  to  have  a  fulness  of  bc:mty 
and  meaning  of  which  those  early  girlish  years  had  no  con- 
ception. Outwardly,  she  had  exchanged  her  old  careless, 
unstudied  grace  for  natural  and  high-bred  ease.  She  was 
not  fashionable,  for  her  life  had  not  run  in  the  grooves  of 
fashion.  The  free  and  careless  existence  she  had  led  with 
her  grandfather  had  given  her  a  serene  self-possession,  while, 
at  the  same  time,  it  had  preserved  from  the  pumice-stone 
of  conventional  society  all  that  was  fresh,  piquant,  and  ori- 
ginal in  her  character.  Her  beauty  was  more  conspicuous 
even  than  formerly,  and  heightened  by  a  rare,  enchanting 
grace,  now  gay,  now  tender,  which  pervaded  look,  smile, 
speech,  and  gesture,  and  seemed  more  an  emanation  from 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  195 

within  than  any  acquired  art  of  society.  In  many  other 
respects,  too,  she  seemed  changed  merely  by  a  purely  har- 
monious development.  Her  old  girlish  daintiness  and 
fondness  for  finery  had  grown  into  a  love  of  elegance  and 
refinement  in  all  the  appointments  of  her  life.  Her  taste 
in  dress  was  marvellous,  and  was  very  freely  indulged. 
She  liked  rich,  soft  fabrics,  harmonious  tints,  and  full,  flow- 
ing folds.  Everything  she  wore,  too,  seemed  to  take  a 
kind  of  individuality  from  her  way  of  wearing  it,  and  to 
become,  in  some  manner,  a  part  of  herself. 

Captain  Fraser  found  the  return  to  old  scenes  sad,  but 
no  longer  unendurably  so.  Time  and  absence  had  done 
for  him,  in  softening  his  grief,  what  his  children  had  hoped 
for;  and  now,  firm  in  health,  vigorous  in  mind,  and  active 
as  many  a  boy,  he  came  back  to  spend  the  evening  of  his 
days  among  the  scenes  and  faces  dearest  to  him. 

One  morning,  about  two  weeks  after  Lucy's  return,  she 
was  standing  in  the  door  of  one  of  the  great  barns,  watch- 
ing her  father,  who,  on  his  knees  at  her  feet,  was  busy  with 
hammer  and  nails,  mending  some  one  of  the  farming-tools. 
The  door  looked  northward,  up  the  sunny,  orchard-crowned 
slope.  The  morning  breeze  stole  in,  fluttering  her  light 
drapery,  lifting  the  hair  from  her  temples,  and  stirring 
lightly  the  last  year's  hay  that  overflowed  the  deep  mows. 
She  made  a  charming  picture  as  she  stood  framed  in  the 
great  square  setting  of  the  door,  with  her  straw  hat  on 
her  arm,  and  her  old  favorite,  Carlo,  lying  stretched  at 
his  length  on  the  floor  at  her  side.  Lucy  and  her  dog 
had  been  together  most  of  the  morning,  revisiting  long- 
deserted  but  unforgotten  haunts;  and  for  the  last  half  hour 
they  had  been  exploring  the  barn.  Probably  Carlo  was 


196  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

fatigued  with  his  unusual  exertions,  for  he  breathed  hard 
as  he  lay  with  his  black  muzzle  resting  on  his  outstretched 
paws,  watching,  through  one  sleepy,  half-shut  eye,  th.e  flies 
that  danced  up  and  down  in  the  sunshine  before  him.  If 
one  ventured  too  near — quick  —  there  was  a  snap,  a  flash 
of  white  teeth,  and  the  silly  thing's  days  were  ended. 

"Do  you  know  what  time  it  is,  Lucy?"  asked  Mr.  Fra- 
ser,  looking  up,  after  a  time. 

"  I  have  left  my  watch  up  stairs,  but  the  clock  in  the 
kitchen  has  just  struck  ten." 

"  Then  I  shall  have  time  to  go  to  the  ridge  and  back 
before  dinner.  Jerry  says  there  is  a  piece  of  wall  that 
needs  looking  after.  Are  you  going  with  me  ? " 

"  Certainly ;  we  are  going  —  are  we  not,  Carlo  ?  " 

The  dog  looked  up  in  his  mistress's  face,  and  thumped 
his  tail  on  the  floor  two  or  three  times  in  token  of  assent. 

"  Do  you  remember  how  far  it  is,  Lucy  ?  The  sun  is 
pretty  warm  this  morning." 

Lucy  laughed  as  she  answered,  "I  am  sure,  father,  I 
could  outwalk  you.  When  we  were  at  Mr.  Lester's,  we 
used  often  to  visit  a  friend  of  his,  an  English  lady,  who  lived 
six  or  seven  miles  from  us.  Horace  and  I  always  walked. 
Mrs.  Fleming  would  always  ride  upon  a  mule,  and  so 
would  Juan,  Mr.  Lester's  servant,  who  usually  went 

with  us." 

» 

"  But  that  was  winter  weather ;  and  though  winter  in 
Granada  and  in  Hillsboro'  are  not  quite  the  same,  still  i^ 
makes  a  difference.  But  speaking  of  winters,  Lucy,  I  fancy 
I  should  really  like  ours  best." 

"  Perhaps  so.  I  think,  however,  that  I  like  our  climate, 
as  we  are  obliged  to  like  many  of  our  friends,  in  spite  of  its 
faults." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  197 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  anything,  in  any  foreign  country, 
prettier  than  Hillsboro'  in  June  ?  " 

"Never;  and  therefore  I  am  silent  about  Hillsboro'  in 
January.  I  wonder  why  grandpa  is  so  late." 

"  Where  is  your  grandfather  ?  " 

"  He  went  to  the  Centre  with  Lydia,  who  had  a  trifle  of 
shopping  to  do." 

"We  don't  see  much  of  Lydia  these  days." 

"Not  as  much  as  we  might  like;  but  a  wedding  is  not 
an  every-day  affair,  and  demands  time." 

"That  is  true  enough;  and  this  is,  happily,  one  of  the 
weddings  in  which  all  parties  seem  to  be  suited.  Do  you 
know,  Lucy,  we  used  to  think  before  you  went  away,  that 
Ben  had  a  fancy  for  you?" 

"Ben  is  altogether  too  sensible  to  prefer  me  to  Lydia; 
it  is  only  such  silly  old  fellows  as  you  and  grandpa  who  do 
that." 

As  she  spoke,  the  captain  came  into  the  barn,  and,  seat- 
ing himself  on  the  threshold  beside  his  grandchild,  pulled 
off  his  wide  Panama  hat,  and  began  fanning  his  hot  face. 

"Confound  your  temperate  climate,  Bob!"  he  said ;  "I 
believe  that  piece  of  road  between  here  and  the  Centre  is 
the  hottest  stretch  I  ever  went  over.  Commend  me  to  the 
tropics  for  comfort." 

Lucy  laid  her  hand  on  the  gray  head,  and  drew  it 
against  her,  as  she  said,  "Did  you  bring  me  anything, 
grandpa?" 

"  Ah,  Lucy !  you  are  just  as  much  of  a  tease,  and  quite 
as  much  of  a  baby,  as  when  you  used  to  climb  in  a  chair 
to  hunt  my  pockets  for  sugar  candy.  Come  in  the  house, 
and  brush  my  hair,  and  read  this  paper  to  me,  while  I 
make  some  lemon  punch." 


198  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"Presently;  I  am  going  now  to  the  ridge  with  father." 

"  Not  in  this  broiling  sun,  child !  You  will  get  a  sun- 
stroke, and  tan  your  face  the  color  of  old  mahogany." 

"  Then  I  shall  look  all  the  more  like  you,  old  sea-dog 
that  you  are!  Don't  you  remember  that  it  was  you,  not  I, 
who  in  Madras  grumbled  at  the  heat  ?  But  my  letters, 
grandpa,  —  did  you  bring  me  any  ?  " 

The  old  man  put  a  letter  into  her  hand,  and  presently 
strolled  back  to  the  house.  Lucy  broke  the  seal,  and  ran 
her  eye  over  its  contents.  It  was  from  Mary  Fanshav,r, 
announcing  the  day  on  which  she  might  be  expected  in 
Hillsboro'.  One  of  Lucy's  first  acts,  when  rested  from  the 
fatigue  of  her  journey,  had  been  to  write  to  her  friend, 
claiming  this  visit.  Several  letters  had  been  exchanged, 
and  Mary  now  wrote  that  she  might  be  expected  on  the 
following  day.  Her  reason,  she  added,  for  naming  so  early 
a  day  was,  that  her  husband,  who  would  himself  bring  her 
to  Hillsboro',  was  about  to  leave  home  for  an  absence  of 
several  weeks. 

Lucy  remained  very  quiet  for  some  time  after  reading 
her  letter,  and  a  shadow  seemed  to  have  fallen  on  her  face. 
The  prospect  of  so  soon  meeting  Fanshaw  and  Mary  could 
not  fail  to  awaken  many  recollections.  The  time  was  long 
past  when  it  could  cost  her  a  pang.  The  old  love  and  the 
old  sorrow  were  gone,  faded  utterly  out  of  her  life ;  but 
the  remembrance  of  them  remained ;  and  she  could  not 
contemplate  with  entire  indifference  a  meeting  with  the 
man  she  had  so  deeply  loved.  She  remained  silent,  quite 
absorbed  in  her  own  thoughts,  until  her  father,  having 
finished  his  work,  recalled  her  attention. 

"  Well,  Lucy,  I  am  ready  now  if  you  are." 


HILLSBORO'   FARMS.  199 

"  O,  yes ;  we  were  going  to  the  ridge.  But,  father,  if 
you  please,  I  think  I  will  not  go  this  morning." 

"  Very  well,  dear ;  perhaps  it  is  a  little  warm  for  you. 
Just  take  these  nails  along  with  you  to  the  kitchen,  and 
tell  Dolly  to  take  care  of  them." 

Lucy  lingered  a  moment,  watching  her  father  as  he  took 
his  way  over  the  sunny  fields,  and  then,  with  a  deep  breath, 
turned  to  the  house,  followed  by  Carlo,  who  walked  with 
drooping  tail  and  ears. 


200  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

MART  and  Fanshaw  arrived  next  day.  Lucy  was  in 
her  grandfather's  room,  helping  him  to  arrange  a  fine  col- 
lection of  coins,  of  which  he  was  very  proud,  and  she  did 
not  know  of  their  coming  till  Dolly  was  sent  to  call  her. 
As  she  came  down  the  stairs,  there  met  her  in  the  entry  a 
pretty,  dark-eyed  child,  whom  she  knew  at  once  from  his 
resemblance  to  Mary.  She  stooped  and  gazed  tenderly 
into  his  soft  eyes,  while  a  mist  came  over  her  own,  as  she 
pressed  a  kiss  on  his  sweet,  baby  lips.  The  next  moment 
she  found  herself  in  the  parlor,  with  Mary's  arms  around 
her  neck,  and  her  disengaged  hand  clasped  in  Fanshaw's. 

When  the  first  confused  moments  were  over,  and  Lucy 
had  time  for  thought,  she  was  surprised  at  herself,  at  the 
calmness  of  her  own  emotions  in  this  meeting,  which,  in 
spite  of  herself)  she  had  somewhat  dreaded.  She  had 
never  so  fully  realized  how  entirely  the  old  had  given 
place  to  the  new  in  herself  as  now,  when  renewing  her 
intercourse  with  these  two  friends  who  had  exerted  so 
strong  an  influence  upon  her  life,  and  in  recognizing  their 
wholly  altered  relations  towards  her.  Could  Lucy  have 
now  met  Ralph  Fanshaw,as  free  in  fancy  as  when  she  first 
knew  him,  it  is  not  venturing  too  much  to  assert  that  no 
sentiment  warmer  than  pleasant  friendship  would  have 
been  possible  in  her;  and  yet  Mary,  a  woman  far  more 


IIILLSBORO'    FARMS.  201 

brilliant  than  herself,  loved  her  husband  with  a  fond  and 
proud  devotion.  As  Lucy  looked  from  one  to  the  other 
of  her  friends,  her  thoughts  reverted  to  her  own  full,  abun- 
dant life;  and  the  last  faint  shadow  cast  by  those  early 
days,  if  one  yet  existed,  vanished  forever. 

With  friends  who  met  after  so  long  a  severance,  there 
was,  of  coui'se,  much  to  be  said,  innumerable  questions  to 
be  asked  and  answered.  As  in  the  old  days,  it  was  Mary 
who  was  the  chief  speaker.  She  talked,  and  Lucy  listened. 
The  one  had  grown  no  more  communicative  than  of  old, 
and  the  other  loved  as  well  her  friend's  gentle  sympathy. 
Fanshaw  had  but  a  few  hours  in  which  to  renew  his  ac- 
quaintance with  his  quondam  pupil,  as  he  was  to  return 
to  Colchester  that  night,  and  to  commence  on  the  morrow 
a  business  tour  in  the  West.  For  some  time  he  had  sat 
watching,  in  the  intervals  of  his  talk  with  the  old  captain, 
the  animated  encounter  of  the  two  friends  ;  and  at  length, 
seating  himself  on  a  low  seat  between  them,  he  said, — 

"  As  I  look  at  you,  Lucy,  I  find  it  difficult  to  believe  that 
it  is  really  the  same  girl  to  whom  I  taught  algebra  and 
French  verbs  three  or  four  years  ago." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  that  you  should  have  trouble  in  recog- 
nizing her,"  replied  Lucy,  with  a  sweet  smile ;  "  for  I  assure 
you  that  in  all  essentials  she  is  quite  the  same." 

"  I  do  not  find  Lucy  changed,"  said  Mary.  "  She  is  far 
less  altered  than  Miles,  who  is  just  her  age." 

"  By  the  way,  Mary,  I  have  not  yet  asked  you  of  Miles. 
Where  is  he?" 

"  He  is  with  mother  just  now ;  he  left  us  only  a  day  or 
two  since.  He  said  he  should  take  the  occasion  of  my 
visit  to  drive  up  to  Hillsboro'  for  a  few  hours  some  day." 


202  HILLSBOUO'    FARMS. 

"  That,  though  very  pleasant,  will  not  by  any  means  sat- 
isfy me.  I  shall  write  to  him  to  come  up  for  a  week." 

"  You  know  nothing  of  what  you  are  bringing  upon 
yourself,  my  dear,  when  you  ask  that  boy  into  your  house. 
I  would  as  soon  have  a  bomb-shell." 

"  Why  will  you  persist,  Mary,"  remonstrated  Eanshaw, 
"  in  calling  your  brother  a  boy,  in  such  disregard  of  his 
feelings?" 

"  I  know  Miles  is  fond  of  thinking  himself  a  man,  and 
the  Colchester  girls  regard  him,  I  believe,  in  the  same 
light.  But  he  has  some  boyish  habits  still,  in  spite  of  his 
twenty  years  and  that  dainty  little  moustache,  of  which  he 
is  so  vain." 

"  You  know,  Lucy,  that  Miles  was  always  a  source  of 
great  anxiety  to  Mary  ;  he  is  more  so  now  than  formerly. 
Then  she  had  only  such  trifles  as  his  health  to  give  her 
uneasiness ;  now  she  has  graver  reason  for  alarm." 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Fanshaw !  Am  I  indiscreet  in  asking  what 
it  can  be  ?  " 

"  Her  chief  source  of  apprehension  at  present  is  a  sister- 
in-law." 

"  What  preposterous  nonsense  you  talk,  Ralph ! " 

"  It  is  perfectly  true  what  I  say.  She  is  in  mortal  terror 
of  every  girl  Miles  speaks  to  or  looks  at." 

"  He  will  be  perfectly  safe  if  he  comes  to  Hillsboro'," 
answered  Lucy,  laughing.  "  Lydia  has  her  wedding  gown 
in  the  house ;  and  I  think  I  am  not  rash  when  I  promise 
for  Hannah." 

"  You  are  as  bad  as  Ralph,  Lucy ;  but  you  don't  give 
your  own  parole  d'honneur? 

"  I  will,  my  dear,  if  you  think  it  necessary." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  203 

Here  little  Elliot  made  his  appearance  at  the  door,  and 
Lucy,  going  to  the  child,  lifted  him  in  her  arms,  and  car- 
ried him  out  under  the  elms,  whither  the  captain  had  be- 
taken himself.  Mary  watched  from  the  window  the  grace- 
ful figure  of  her  friend. 

"The  same  dear  Lucy,  unaltered,"  she  said  to  her  husband, 
who  was  now  alone  with  her  in  the  room. 

"  Completely  changed,"  he  answered,  smiling. 

"  Ralph,  how  can  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Mary,  how  can  you  think  otherwise  ?  " 

"  I  own  she  is  changed  outwardly.  That  was  to  be  ex- 
pected." 

"  The  change  is  something  deeper  than  mere  externals ; 
and  I  wonder  that  you,  who  are  usually  so  much  clearer 
sighted  than  myself,  do  not  see  it.  You  have  known  Lucy 
longer;  still  I  must  think  that  I  knew  her  better,  under- 
stood better  the  springs  of  her  character.  Yet  how  blind 
we  both  were  !  We  gave  her  to  Ben  Miller,  and  thought 
we  had  done  a  very  judicious  thing.  Compare  them  now!" 

"  Ralph,"  exclaimed  Mary,  suddenly,  in  a  low  voice, 
glancing,  as  she  spoke,  furtively  through  the  window,  — 
"  Ralph,  I  have  a  splendid  idea." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  his  eye  from  the 
group  under  the  trees  to  his  wife's  eager  face. 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  but  stood  leaning  with 
crossed  arms  on  the  carved  back  of  a  large  chair ;  then,  as 
he  bent  towards  her,  she  said  a  few  rapid  words,  in  a  low 
voice,  in  his  ear.  He  smiled  at  first,  then  laughed  outright, 
and  called  her  a  little  goose  for  her  pains. 

When,  towards  evening,  Fanshaw  was  preparing  to  leave, 
Mary  said,  — 


204  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  I  find,  on  opening  my  trunk,  that  I  have  forgotten  sev- 
eral things  which  I  shall  need  very  much.  Give  me  your 
pencil,  and  I  will  write  a  list,  and  Nora  can  make  up  the 
parcel." 

"My  dear  Mary,  I  shall  leave  home  at  daylight  to- 
morrow morning,  and  really  cannot  attend  to  sending  it." 

"  Tell  Nora  to  give  it  to  Burke ;  he  will  see  to  it.  I 
know  there  will  be  plenty  of  opportunities  to  send  it,  and 
it  will  oblige  me  very  much." 

Fanshaw  promised ;  the  last  adieus  were  spoken ;  he 
'sprang  to  his  place,  and  drove  away.  Mary  brushed  her 
hand  over  her  eyes,  laughed  away  a  little  disposition  she 
felt  to  look  rueful,  and  followed  Mrs.  Fraser  into  the  par- 
lor. They  were  presently  joined  by  the  captain  and  his 
son,  while  Lucy  sat  down  before  a  large,  old-fashioned  ma- 
hogany secretary  that  stood  in  the  entry.  This  piece  of 
furniture,  being  heavy  and  cumbrous,  had  been  banished 
successively  from  every  room  in  the  house ;  but  here  it  had 
made  a  stand.  The  wide  and  ample  entrance-hall  seemed 
just  fitted  to  receive  it.  Its  dark,  polished  sides  and  carved 
ornaments  made  no  mean  appearance  here;  and  a  high- 
backed  chair  of  the  same  material  and  ancient  date,  cush- 
ioned with  dusky  red  leather,  stood  always  before  it. 
Opening  the  leaves,  and  drawing  out  pens  and  paper,  Lucy 
began  to  write,  occasionally  joining  in  the  conversation 
going  on  in  the  parlor.  By  and  by  Mary  came  and  stood 
beside  her. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Lucy  ?  " 

"  Writing  letters  for  Jerry  to  post  in  the  morning.  That 
one  is  to  Miles.  O !  it  is  sealed  ;  you  cannot  see  what  is 
in  it," 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  205 

"  Have  you  really  written  to  him  to  come  up  for  a 
week?" 

"Just  that." 

"  It  is  kind  of  you,  and  he  will  be  delighted." 

"  Have  you  written  to  Mr.  Dutton,  Lucy,  as  I  asked 
you?" 

"  Yes,  father ;  here  is  the  letter.  I  will  read  it  to  you ; " 
and  she  proceeded  to  read  a  letter  to  a  farmer  in  a  neigh- 
boring town,  relative  to  some  fat  oxen  which  the  latter 
had  for  sale.  Being  entirely  satisfactory,  it  was  sealed  and 
laid  aside. 

"  Did  you  write  to  Cheeseman  the  other  day,  Lucy,  about 
the  '  Flying  Cloud '  ?  "  asked  her  grandfather. 

"  I  sent  a  letter  on  Monday,  sir;  and  it  is  quite  time,  I 
think,  that  you  had  a  return." 

"  You  seem  to  be  general  business  agent  for  the  family, 
Lucy." 

"  I  am ;  and,  should  you  chance  to  desire  it,  I  could  give 
you  information  about  stocks,  railway  shares,  agricultural 
matters,  or  shipping  interests,"  Lucy  answered,  as  she  closed 
her  desk,  and  went  to  say  good  night  to  those  in  the  parlor. 


206  HILLSBOBO'    FARMS. 


.CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  cool  mornings,  the  sultry  noons,  and  quiet,  lovely 
evenings,  followed  in  quick  succession.  Mary  and  Lucy 
were,  hour  by  hour,  weaving  up  the  torn  web  of  their 
friendship,  and  growing  daily  better  known  and  more  at- 
tached to  each  other.  Mary  had  been  several  days  at 
Hillsboro',  when  they  sat  one  morning  by  the  open  door 
of  the  front  entry.  All  that  side  of  the  house  was  in 
shadow,  and  the  air  deliciously  cool  and  fragrant.  They 
had  brought  their  work-baskets,  and  sewed  as  they  talked, 
while  Elliot  with  his  toys  played  on  the  floor  beside  them. 
They  made  a  pretty  group  —  Mary  in  a  becoming  white 
wrapper,  and  Lucy  in  a  delicate  morning  dress  of  chintz- 
colored  cambi'ic,  from  the  folds  of  which  her  little  slippered 
feet  peeped  daintily.  An  open  note  lay  on  the  floor  with 
its  envelope,  as  if  just  read  and  flung  there. 

"  It  is  very  provoking,"  Mary  said,  "  that  Miles  cannot 
come  to  Hillsboro'  this  week.  I  wish  Stratton  Kingsbury 
had  kept  away.  I  do  not  like  him  for  a  friend  for  Miles ; 
and  detaining  him  just  now  interferes  with  our  plans  very 
much." 

"To  be  sure,  we  had  depended  on  him  to  drive  us  to 
Edgehill  on  Monday ;  but  my  grandfather  will  enjoy  going." 

"  I  had  intended  to  have  Captain  Eraser  to  myself.  I 
particularly  dislike  dividing  a  gentleman  with  one  or  two 
other  ladies." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  207 

"  Lucy,  dear,  will  you  come  here  for  a  minute  ?  "  called 
her  mother  from  the  adjoining  room. 

Lucy  laid  down  her  work,  and  went  to  see  what  was 
wanted  of  her.  Mary  sewed  a  few  minutes,  looked  out 
through  the  door  at  the  hay-makers,  just  beginning  the 
hay-harvest,  played  with  the  boy  a  moment,  and  finally 
picked  up  Miles's  note,  and  began,  for  the  third  time,  to  read 
it  over.  While  she  was  thus  occupied,  a  carriage  stopped 
before  the  door.  Looking  up,  she  saw  a  gentleman  alight- 
ing from  it,  and  quickly  recognized  Singleton  Burke.  Has- 
tily disengaging  her  dress  from  Elliot's  clinging  hands,  she 
rose  to  meet  him. 

"  Mr.  Burke,  this  is  a  pleasure  !  I  am  really  delighted  to 
fee  you." 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Fanshaw.  I  never  question  your  sin- 
cerity. I  have  no  need,  looking  in  your  face,  to  inquire  of 
your  health." 

"  No  ;  this  air  of  Hillsboro'  is  the  sworn  enemy  of  pale 
cheeks.  But  come  into  the  parlor,  and  let  me  call  Mrs. 
Fraser  and  my  friend  Lucy." 

"  First  suffer  me  to  speak  of  my  errand.  This  package 
was  given  me  several  days  since  to  forward  to  you.  I  have 
had  no  opportunity  of  so  doing  until  now,  but  trust  I 
have  caused  you  no  inconvenience  by  the  delay." 

"All  apology  should  come  from  me,  Mr.  Burke,  for  giv- 
ing you  so  much  trouble." 

"It  has  given  me  only  the  pleasure  of  this  call.  Ah! 
what  a  noble  country ! "  he  added,  as  Mary  threw  open  the 
blind  and  gave  him  a  seat  near  the  window.  "If  the  peo- 
ple are  equal  to  their  scenery,  I  no  longer  wonder  that  you 
and  Ralph  rave  about  Hillsboro'." 


208  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

"You  must  judge  for  yourself,  Mr.  Burke.  Excuse  me 
while  I  call  Mrs.  Fraser." 

She  left  the  room  as  she  spoke,  returning,  after  a  short 
absence,  accompanied  by  her  hostess,  and,  a  few  minutes 
later,  Lucy  entered. 

Mary  was  sensitive  about  the  friends  she  loved  ;  and  on 
this  occasion  she  was  particularly  desirous  that  Lucy  should 
make  a  favorable  impression.  She  watched  Burke  narrowly, 
pleased  to  mark  his  surprise  in  the  slight  dilatation  of  his 
calm  gray  eyes,  and  his  admiration  in  their  slightly  soft- 
ened expression.  She  had  the  more  satisfaction  in  this  as 
she  knew  that  he  did  not  greatly  admire  the  majority  of 
young  ladies  he  was  accustomed  to  meet  in  society;  and, 
looking  at  Lucy,  she  thought  she  had  never  seen  her  more 
animated  and  charming. 

Mr.  Burke's  call  was  considerably  prolonged,  his  own 
enjoyment  and  the  hospitality  of  his  entertainers  quite 
precluding  the  thought  of  how  time  was  passing.  By  and 
by  a  neat-looking  girl  brought  in  a  tray  on  which  were 
arranged  cake,  napkins,  and  glasses  containing  Mrs.  Fra- 
ser's  delicious  currant  wine  ;  and  Lucy  gracefully  presided 
over  the  distribution  of  the  refreshment. 

"  Did  you  tell  me,  Mrs.  Fanshaw,  that  you  are  looking  for 
Miles?"  Mr.  Burke  asked,  in  the  course  of  conversation. 

"Yes;  and  we  are  thoroughly  vexed  that  he  does  not 
come  to-day.  We  wanted  him  to  take  us  to  Edgehill  on 
Monday.  There  is  to  be  a  political  mass-meeting,  as  they 
call  it ;  and  the  famous  Mr.  H is  to  speak." 

"Mrs.  Fanshaw  is  interested  in  politics,  Miss  Fraser; 
pray,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Not  very  deeply,"  answered  Lucy,  smiling.     "  But  peo- 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  209 

pie  who  live  as  we.  do  avail  themselves  of  everything  that 
offers  variety." 

"  I  think  you  will  be  interested  in  H .    Business  will 

take  me  to  Edgehill  on  Monday,  and  I  shall  endeavor  to 
hear  him." 

"  O,  then  we  shall  meet  you,"  said  Mary ;  "  or,  better 
still,  come  this  way,  and  be  one  of  our  party." 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Fanshaw,"  began  the  gentleman. 

"Do  come,  Mr.  Burke ;  it  will  be  pleasanter  for  you  all," 
added  Mrs.  Fraser,  cordially,  while  Lucy's  smiling  eyes 
seemed  to  await  an  assent,  which  was  soon  given.  It  was 
at  length  arranged  that  Burke  should  dine  with  them  on 
Monday,  and  accompany  them  to  Edgehill  in  the  after- 
noon ;  and  then,  seeing  no  reasonable  excuse  for  longer 
delay,  the  gentleman  took  his  leave. 
14 


210  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MONDAY  arrived,  and  with  it,  punctual  to  his  appoint- 
ment, appeared  Mr.  Burke.  The  dinner,  or,  rather,  lun- 
cheon, was  served  at  an  early  hour ;  and  as  soon  as  it  was 
over,  the  horses  were  brought  round.  Burke,  who  drove 
a  single  horse,  in  an  easy,  smooth-rolling  phaeton,  had 
secured  Lucy  as  his  companion ;  while  the  captain  handed 
Mary  to  a  seat  in  a  light,  open  wagon,  to  which  were  har- 
nessed a  finely-matched  pair  of  spirited  young  bays. 

"I  think,  father,"  remarked  Mr.  Fraser,  "that  you  would 
have  been  wiser  to  take  the  carryall.  Mary's  bonnet  would 
have  been  safer  in  case  of  a  shower." 

"  There  is  not  the  least  danger  of  a  shower,  Mr.  Fraser," 
Mary  answered.  "  See,  what  a  lovely  sky !  And  I  like 
the  feeling  of  being  out  of  doors  one  has  in  these  open 
wagons." 

The  day  was  charming,,  the  roads  excellent,  and  the 
country  smiling  in  the  fulness  of  summer  beauty.  Along 
their  way  the  fields  of  grass  were  yielding  to  the  swinging 
scythe,  and  a  sweet  smell  of  new  hay  filled  the  air.  There 
was  a  fresh  west  wind,  that  bent  in  rolling  waves  the 
standing  gi-ass,  and  turned  up  the  white  linings  of  the  ma- 
ple leaves.  Shadows  from  sailing  clouds  traversed  the 
hill-sides  or  darkened  the  valleys ;  and,  now  and  then,  from 
a  distant  field  came  the  music  of  a  scythe-stone  on  the 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  211 

ringing  blade,  as  a  white-sleeved  haymaker,  pausing  in  his 
work,  sharpened  the  dulled  edge. 

Captain  Fraser  was  in  advance,  and  drove  rapidly,  his 
strong,  young  horses  seeming  to  feel  the  exhilaration  of 
the  day  as  well  as  the  old  gentleman  and  his  companion. 
After  the  first  mile  or  two,  Mr.  Burke  gave  up  trying  to 
keep  pace  with  him,  and,  checking  his  horse,  soon  fell  far 
behind.  That  the  drive  was  a  pleasant  one,  both  to  him- 
self and  to  Lucy,  may  be  inferred,  perhaps,  from  the  fact 
that  each  was  secretly  surprised,  on  reaching  Edgehill,  after 
something  more  than  an  hour  and  a  half  had  passed,  that 
they  should  have  accomplished  the  distance  in  so  short  a 
time.  It  was  eight  miles  from  Mr.  Fraser's  house  to 
Edgehill. 

"  Have  you  any  idea,"  said  Lucy,  as  they  rose  over  the 
crest  of  the  last  hill,  "  how  far  in  advance  ray  grandfather 
and  Mary  are  ?  " 

"  My  last  sight  of  them  was  some  time  ago.  They  have 
driven  like  the  wind ;  but  we  shall  probably  find  them  at 
the  hotel."  Consulting  his  watch,  he  continued,  "  We  have 
still  some  minutes  to  spare,  Miss  Fraser,  before  the  hour 
for  this  meeting.  Would  you  like  to  alight  and  rest,  or 
shall  we  drive  through  the  village?" 

"I  am  not  tired,  and  should  prefer  the  drive." 

The  village  of  Edgehill  stands  upon  a  broad,  natural  ter- 
race, facing  the  south-east.  Behind,  the  cliffs  rise  almost 
perpendicularly,  frowning  down  sternly  on  the  little  town 
at  their  base ;  while  in  front,  the  hill,  though  still  wild  and 
rugged,  falls  away  less  precipitously.  The  table  oh  which 
the  village  is  built  is  perfectly  level,  and  varies  from  thirty 
rods  to  half  a  mile  in  width.  The  road  runs  through  the 


212  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

middle,  and  descends  at  last  into  a  wild  ravine,  where, 
along  the  banks  of  a  full  and  rapid  stream,  are  clustered 
several  factories,  which  make  the  chief  business  of  the 
place.  The  dwellings  are' scattered  in  picturesque  groups 
along  the  plain ;  a  hotel,  a  pretty  wooden  church,  and  a 
school-house,  occupying  a  central  position. 

Towards  the  farther  end  of  the  town,  where  the  plateau 
is  widest,  standing  on  a  broad  artificial  terrace  of  its  own, 
might  be  seen  a  square,  old-fashioned  mansion,  built  of 
brick,  with  quoins  and  balustrades  of  gray  stone,  and  clus- 
ters of  massive  chimneys  rising  among  the  tangled  growth 
that  covered  the  face  of  the  cliff.  The  grounds  —  which, 
in  that  position,  could  not,  of  course,  be  very  extensive  — 
were  enclosed  by  an  ancient  buckthorn  hedge,  and  kept 
with  the  most  perfect  care.  Scattered  horse-chestnuts, 
singly  and  in  groups,  broke  the  emerald  surface  of  the 
lawn;  and  here  and  there  a  locust  tree  shed  a  shower  of 
bloom  and  fragrance  around.  A  stone  table  and  seat  stood 
in  one  sheltered  corner ;  and  from  the  great  stone  vases 
on  either  side  the  gateway  drooped  sprays  of  brilliant 
flowers. 

As  Lucy  and  her  companion  drove  slowly  past,  they  ob- 
served a  gentleman  walking  meditatively  up  and  down  in 
the  shade  before  the  house,  while  a  grave-looking  hound 
paced,  with  dignified  step,  at  his  side.  This  gentleman 
was  Mr.  Gore,  to  whom  allusion  has  already  been  more 
than  once  made.  He  was  apparently  about  sixty  years  of 
age,  tall,  slender,  and  noticeably  graceful  in  figure,  with  a 
thin,  handsome  face  and  silvery  hair.  Rich,  agreeable,  and 
well  connected,  it  was  thought  a  noteworthy  thing  in  that 
section,  that  Mr.  Gore  had  reached  the  age  just  mentioned 


HILLSBOBO'    FARMS.  213 

a  bachelor ;  but  for  what  reasons  he  had  done  so  was  his 
own  secret.  He  lived  alone  but  for  the  servants  of  his 
establishment,  dispensing  elegant  bachelor  hospitalities, 
and  giving  himself  to  the  various  claims  on  the  attention 
of  a  man  of  wealth  and  leisure.  In  his  more  youthful  days 
he  had  travelled  extensively,  and  mingled  a  great  deal  in 
society;  but  of  late  years  his  life  had  been  rather  quiet. 

"This  is  a  pleasant  place  we  are  passing,"  said  Burke,  as 
he  turned  his  horse's  head  to  retrace  the  way  they  had 
come.  "  Do  you  know  Mr.  Gore  ?" 

"  I  can  hardly  say  I  do.  He  frequently  comes  to  my 
father's ;  but  it  is  now  several  years  since  I  saw  him.  I 
have  been  told  that  this  used  to  be  a  very  gay  house." 

"  It  looks  anything  but  that  to-day.  But  I  have  seen 
nothing  of  our  friends  yet.  We  will  drive  on  to  the  hotel, 
and  try  and  find  them." 

He  quickened  his  hoi'se's  pace,  and  they  soon  reached 
the  hotel.  Here,  in  answer  to  their  inquiries,  they  learned 
that  the  captain  and  Mary,  after  waiting  for  them  some 
time,  had  walked  out,  leaving  word  that  they  might  be 
found  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  grove  where  the  speaking 
was  to  take  place.  Lucy  and  her  companion  left  their  car- 
riage, and  walked  up  the  shady  village  street  to  the  place 
indicated.  Here  a  striking  scene  was  presented. 

It  was  the  summer  preceding  an  important  presidential 
election,  and  an  exciting  canvass  had  already  commenced. 
Mass  meetings  were  being  held  in  many  places,  and  elo- 
quent and  effective  speakers  from  the  large  towns  were 
procured  to  advocate  the  principles  and  set  forth  the  policy 
of  the  respective  parties.  Among  such  speakers,  few  pos- 
sessed in  a  more  eminent  degree  the  requisites  of  an  effec- 


214  HILLSBORO'    FALIMS. 

tive  "stump  "  orator  than  Mr.  H .    Let  no  one  imagine 

that  these  requisites  are  either  few  or  slight.  To  com- 
mand the  attention,  convince  the  judgment,  and  move  the 
feelings  of  the  class  of  men  who  make  up  the  audience  at 
a  New  England  mass  meeting,  requires,  in  large  measure, 
those  capabilities  of  clear  statement,  logical  deduction,  and 
forcible  and  earnest  utterance,  which  are  the  chief  ele- 
ments in  the  highest  oratory.  If  to  these  be  superadded 
the  graces  of  scholarship  and  the  charm  of  wit  and  humor, 
their  effect  is  neither  unappreciated  nor  undervalued. 
Woe  betide  the  luckless  wight  who,  mistaking  the  homely 
sense  of  the  men  who  make  up  such  an  assemblage,  under- 
takes to  talk  down  to  them.  Swift  are  they  to  detect  the 
impertinence,  and  pitiless  to  punish  it  with  well-merited 
contempt. 

The  spot  selected  for  the  meeting  was  a  small  grove, 
lying  just  back  of  the  village  green,  between  it  and  the 
cliff.  Its  trees  were  the  natural  growth  of  oak  and  maple 
which  had  once  covered  the  plateau,  and  above  whose 
shining,  dark-green  foliage  a  few  tall  pines,  relics  of  a  still 
more  ancient  growth,  lifted  their  heads  in  sombre,  decay- 
ing grandeur.  Here,  under  the  flickering  shade,  a  wooden 
platform  had  been  erected,  from  which,  as  they  drew  near, 

Mr.  H was  already  addressing  the  crowd  below.     On 

the  platform,  just  behind  the  speaker,  were  seated  several 
of  the  more  prominent  citizens  of  Edgehill  belonging  to 

Mr.  H 's  political  party,  and  a  few  gentlemen  from  the 

neighboring  towns.  The  Colchester  brass  band  occupied 
one  side  of  the  platform,  making  a  veiy  pretty  show  in 
their  gray  and  scarlet  uniforms.  They  had  been  very 
useful,  too,  in  keeping  the  crowd  from  growing  impatient 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  215 

during  the  hour  they  had  been  compelled  to  wait  for  the 
speaker. 

The  audience,  numbering  some  twelve  hundred  persons, 
perhaps,  was  composed  chiefly  of  men,  rough-handed, 
stoop-shouldered,  hard-headed  farmers  from  the  country 
round.  Quite  a  number  of  ladies  were  also  present,  some 
on  foot,  and  some  sitting  in  carriages ;  while  perched  in 
the  branches  of  the  trees  were  numerous  boys,  who,  secure 
in  their  leafy  "  coigns  of  vantage,"  kept  up  a  low  buzz  of 
talk  among  themselves,  and  made  their  presence  constantly 
manifest  by  scattering  a  shower  of  peanut-shells  on  the 
heads  of  the  crowd  below. 

The  press  was  so  great  as  to  prevent  Lucy  and  her  com- 
panion from  getting  near  the  platform ;  so,  leaning  on  a 
garden  paling,  they  fell  into  pleasant,  low-toned  talk,  quite 
careless  of  the  throng  and  of  the  great  interests  uppermost 
with  it,  save  when  their  attention  was  recalled  by  an  occa- 
sional burst  of  applause,  or  a  murmur  of  laughter  sweeping 
over  the  crowd  like  a  breeze  across  a  wood. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  away,  and  a  slight  movement  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  throng  indicated  that  the  speaker  was 
drawing  to  a  close,  Lucy  began  to  look  a  little  anxiously 
among  the  various  groups  for  her  grandfather.  She  was 
about  to  suggest  making  an  attempt  to  find  him,  when  the 
massive  head  and  shoulders  of  the  old  man  rose  above  a 
group  of  ladies  not  far  off.  At  the  same  moment  several 
gentlemen  approached  from  an  opposite  direction,  one  of 
whom  Lucy  at  once  recognized  as  Mr.  Gore.  He  also  rec- 
ognized Mr.  Burke,  and,  bowing  slightly  to  his  companions, 
allowed  them  to  pass  on,  while  he  drew  near  our  friends. 
After  the  usual  exchange  of  salutations,  Mr.  Burke  turned 


216  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

to  Lucy,  and  formally  presented  the  elder  gentleman.  Mr. 
Gore  was  an  old  man,  and  his  head  was  white,  but  he  had 
still  a  quick  eye  for  beauty ;  and  as  he  bowed  over  the  little 
hand  she  gave  him,  there  was  in  his  manner  a  delightful 
blending  of  the  condescending  suavity  which  age  accords 
to  youth  with  the  deferential  gallantry  which  was  the 
man's  natural  tribute  to  her  sex  and  beauty.  Lucy  re- 
ceived him  with  a  quiet,  unconscious  grace,  the  farthest 
from  timidity,  and  than  which  nothing  could  be  more  un- 
like her  former  shy  reserve. 

Leaving  Lucy  in  Mr.  Gore's  charge,  Burke  went  in  search 
of  the  captain  and  Mary,  with  whom  he  soon  returned. 
Mr.  Gore  and  the  captain,  between  whom  there  was  an 
acquaintance  of  long  standing,  were  mutually  pleased  at 
this  accidental  meeting;  and  the  former  coined  many 
phrases  of  elaborate  compliment  for  Mary,  whose  family 
were  well  known  to  him. 

The  crowd  was  now  rapidly  dispersing,  and  they  began 
to  speak  of  returning  to  the  public  house,  where  they  had 
left  their  horses.  Mr.  Gore  at  once  interposed  a  protest, 
urging  the  whole  party  to  accompany  him  home,  and  par- 
take of  a  "bachelor's  dinner,"  postponing  their  drive  to 
Hillsboro'  until  the  evening.  As  there  was  really  no  valid 
reason  for  declining  so  agreeable  an  invitation,  it  was  so 
arranged.  Lucy  accepted  the  offered  arm  of  Mr.  Gore, 
and  Burke  walked  by  her  side,  while  Mary  and  the  captain 
followed  a  few  steps  behind. 

It  was  not  a  long  walk  to  the  pleasant  old  house  under 
the  horse-chestnut  trees.  As  they  were  entering  the  hall 
door,  Mr.  Gore  gathered  for  Lucy  two  glowing  king  roses, 
one  in  full  bloom  and  the  other  just  bursting.  She  re- 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  217 

ceived  them  with  a  quick  smile  of  pleasure ;  and  when  the 
housekeeper  conducted  herself  and  Mary  up  stairs  that 
they  might  arrange  their  dresses,  she  placed  the  flowers  in 
her  beautiful  hair.  As  they  moved  about  the  chamber, 
opening  closed  shutters,  and  admitting  the  bright  sunlight, 
they  seemed  to  wake  slumbering  echoes  in  the  dim  old 
house  —  echoes  of  a  gay  and  stately  life  that  had  died  out 
of  it  long  ago. 

Mary  had  finished  her  toilet  first,  and  gone  out  into  the 
upper  hall,  where,  presently,  she  called  her  friend  to  come 
to  her.  Lucy  found  her  standing  before  one  of  the  numer- 
ous pictures  —  apparently  family  portraits  —  which  were 
panelled  in  the  wall.  It  represented  a  lady,  and,  though 
the  colors  on  the  canvas  we're  fading,  it  had  clearly  been 
meant  for  one  in  the  bloom  of  youth.  She  wore  a  close- 
fitting  riding-habit  of  ancient  fashion,  and  was  looking 
over  her  shoulder  at  the  beholder.  On  the  raised  white 
hand  of  the  lady  was  perched  a  bird  of  brilliant  plumage, 
whose  head  was  also  turned,  its  eyes  looking  in  the  same 
direction  as  her  own.  There  was  something  in  the  form 
of  the  face  and  in  the  features  which  strikingly  resembled 
Lucy,  and  in  the  drooping,  rich,  dark-chestnut  hair  glowed 
a  red  rose,  like  the  one  Lucy  now  wore.  As  I  have  said,  the 
resemblance  in  form  and  coloring  was  noticeable ;  but  the 
expression  was  wholly  different.  And,  as  Lucy  gazed,  the 
soft  bloom,  the  sweet,  enchanting  smile,  took  the  character 
of  a  mask,  and  seemed  to  cover  something  —  what,  she 
could  not  tell  —  something  half  seen,  uncertain,  and  intan- 
gible. It  almost  seemed  as  if  the  expression  of  the  picture 
changed  like  that  of  a  living  face,  at  one  moment  per- 
plexing the  beholder  with  a  half  revelation,  which  vanisht-d 


218        .  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

in  the  next,  leaving  a  vague  feeling  of  sadness,  which 
seemed  caught  from  its  haunting  eyes. 

The  girls  stood  before  the  picture  for  some  time,  won- 
dering if  it  were  a  portrait,  or  the  creation  of  some  artist's 
fancy,  and  quite  reluctantly  turned  away  at  last,  and  went 
down  to  the  drawing-room,  where  the  gentlemen  were 
awaiting  them.  Lucy  crossed  the  room  to  her  grandfather, 
while  Mary  turned  to  their  host. 

"  We  have  been  admiring  one  of  the  pictures,  Mr.  Gore, 
which  hang  in  your  upper  hall,  —  that  of  a  lady  with  a 
bird  upon  her  hand,  —  and  wondering  if  it  could  be  a  por- 
trait." 

"  It  is,  indeed,  the  portrait  of  one  Mistress  Anne  Wy- 
combe,  a  daughter  of  our  family,  who  was  a  famous  beauty 
in  the  old  colonial  days.  Did  the  picture  interest  you  ?  " 

"  It  did,  exceedingly,  partly  from  its  beauty,  partly  from 
an  indescribable  expression  which  it  wears,  but,  most  of 
all,  from  its  strong  resemblance  to  Miss  Fraser.  Look  at 
her  now ! " 

As  Mary  spoke,  a  bright  gleam  of  sunshine,  falling 
through  the  opening  in  the  curtains,  shone  full  upon  Lu- 
cy's head.  Her  face  was  turned,  and  she  was  looking  over 
her  shoulder  at  her  grandfather  and  Mr.  Burke,  while  Mr. 
Gore's  rose,  with  its  shining  leaves,  drooped  low  behind 
her  ear. 

"  Wonderful !  It  is  Mistress  Anne  herself! "  exclaimed 
the  gentleman,  in  a  low  voice.  "Yet,"  he  added,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  "  one  thing  is  wanting ;  and,  Mrs.  Fan- 
shaw,  if  you  love  your  friend,  you  will  not  wish  to  see  the 
resemblance  completed." 

"She  was  very  lovely,  if  the  canvas  speaks  the  truth." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  219 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  still  looking  abstractedly  at  Lucy; 
"but  there  is  a  shadow  on  her  face.  They  say  she  died  of 
a  broken  heart.  However,"  he  added,  smiling,  "people 
do  not  believe  in  that  nowadays ;  and  perhaps  the  disease 
has  been  exterminated.  Mrs.  Fanshaw,  do  you  play  ?  I 
see  they  have  opened  the  piano.  I  was  sure  you  did ;  will 
you  not  favor  us  ?  " 

While  they  lingered  about  the  piano,  dinner  was  an- 
nounced ;  and  Mr.  Gore,  giving  his  arm  to  Mary,  led  the 
way  to  the  dining-room.  The  dinner  was  perfect,  the  hos- 
pitality of  their  host  at  once  graceful  and  sincere,  his  guests 
in  the  humor  to  enjoy  everything  —  it  could  hardly  fail  to 
be  a  pleasant  party. 

They  were  still  sitting  over  the  dessert,  when  an  excla- 
mation of  surprise  and  anxiety  from  Mary  drew  the  atten- 
tion of  the  whole  company  to  a  great  change  which  had 
taken  place  in  the  aspect  of  the  day.  Dark  clouds  had 
arisen,  obscuring  the  sun,  and,  at  intervals,  distant  thunder 
echoed  among  the  hills.  Some  uneasiness  began  to  be  felt 
about  their  return,  for,  though  it  still  wanted  some  time  to 
sunset,  it  was  already  growing  quite  dark.  Mr.  Gore  in- 
sisted on  the  whole  party  staying  all  night ;  but  this  Mary- 
was  unwilling  to  do,  on  account  of  her  child.  After  taking 
a  survey  of  the  heavens  from  the  lawn,  their  host  gave  it 
as  his  opinion  that  they  should  have  no  rain ;  the  clouds, 
he  thought,  were  not  rising  from  the  right  quarter;  and  it 
was  determined  that  the  captain  and  Mary  should  go  at 
once  in  Burke's  phaeton,  which  offered  sure  protection 
from  the  weather,  while  Lucy  and  Mr.  Burke  could  wait 
until  the  shower  was  over,  or  the  danger  of  one  past,  and 
.come  on  in  the  wagon. 


220  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

Accordingly  Mr.  Gore  despatched  a  servant  to  the  hotel 
for  the  horses,  and  Mary  rapidly  making  her  preparations 
for  the  return  drive,  she  and  the  captain  were  soon  on 
their  way  home.  After  they  were  gone,  the  others,  find- 
ing the  air  in-doors  close  and  oppressive,  paced  slowly  up 
and  down  a  grassy  walk  at  one  extremity  of  the  terrace. 
The  walk  was  bordered  upon  one  side  by  the  thick  hedge, 
and  on  the  other  by  young  locust  trees,  whose  light  leaves 
rustled  mysteriously  in  the  evening  wind,  while  over  all 
were  the  stately,  spreading  branches  of  the  great  horse- 
chestnuts.  The  gentlemen  were  in  animated  conversation, 
while  Lucy,  wrapped  in  the  cape  Burke  had  carefully 
folded  about  her  shoulders,  walked  between  them,  leaning 
on  Mr.  Gore's  arm.  She  had  fallen  into  complete  silence, 
and  was  occupied  with  watching  the  dense  volumes  of 
cloud  that  rolled  darkly  up  from  behind  the  cliff,  and  lis- 
tening to  the  fitful  sighing  of  the  wind  as  it  mingled  with 
the  hoarse  roar  of  the  river  in  the  ravine  below.  The 
whole  scene  filled  her  with  a  qniet  but  keen  excitement. 
The  wild  face  of  the  sky,  the  great  solemn  trees  that  shad- 
owed their  path,  the  dark,  still  house,  and  the  murmurous 
gloom  of  the  great  cliff  that  hung  close  above  them,  im- 
pressed vividly  her  imagination.  All  around,  low  voices 
seemed  calling  to  her,  and  her  thoughts  were  borne  far 
away  on  the  wild  evening  wind. 

"  I  fear  we  are  fatiguing  you  with  this  long  walk,  Miss 
Fraser.  We  will  go  in,"  said  Mr.  Gore,  at  length. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  have  enjoyed  it  very  much.  Mr. 
Burke,  what  do  you  think  of  the  prospect  of  returning  to 
Hillsboro'  to-night?" 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  interrupted  their  host,  "let  me 


HTLLSBORO'    FARMS.  221 

answer  for  him.  The  evening  is  still  too  doubtful  to  admit 
of  driving  eight  miles  in  an  open  wagon." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  Look !  the  stars  are  shining 
overhead,  and  the  clouds  must  be  thinning  in  the  west,  for 
there  is  a  faint  brightness  on  those  distant  hills." 

Lucy  was  right.  The  clouds,  after  long  threatening, 
were  breaking  away.  There  seemed  no  longer  any  reason 
for  delay,  and  Mr.  Gore  with  regret  saw  his  guests  depart. 
But  by  the  time  they  had  cleared  the  village  and  the  near 
hills,  and  were  well  out  on  the  open  road,  they  perceived  a 
low,  ominous-looking  cloud  rising  rapidly  behind  them. 
Mr.  Burke  checked  his  horse. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  he  asked.  "Return,  or  drive  on 
and  try  and  outrun  the  cloud  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  advise,  Mr.  Burke  ?  " 

"  It  is  your  advice  I  wish.  But  I  think  the  cloud  will 
scatter,  as  the  last  did.  Even  if  it  should  rain,  I  believe 
these  horses  capable  of  taking  us  home  before  the  shower 
can  overtake  us." 

"Drive  on,  then,  by  all  means,"  replied  Lucy. 

Obedient  to  her  instructions,  he  slackened  his  rein,  and 
the  fiery  young  animals  sprang  forward.  A  light  touch 
with  the  whip,  a  low  whistle,  and  the  fine  creatures  seemed 
to  know  what  was  expected  of  them,  and,  with  level  necks, 
put  forth  their  utmost  speed.  It  was  a  wild,  exciting 
drive.  The  night  had  again  grown  black,  but  was  illumi- 
nated at  intervals  by  vivid  flashes  of  lightning,  and  the  fly- 
ing hoofs  of  the  horses  struck  sparks  of  fire  from  the  stony 
road.  The  thunder  rolled  sullenly,  and  the  wind  came  in 
sudden  gusts.  The  occupants  of  the  little  wagon  ex- 
changed but  an  occasional  sentence.  Lucy  felt  no  fear  in 


222  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

the  gathering  storm,  but  rather  a  degree  of  exhilaration  in 
watching  its  wild  approach.  Of  her  companion,  I  suspect, 
she  thought  but  very  little.  Burke  was  nearly  silent.  He 
was  deeply  anxious  for  his  lovely  charge ;  for  himself,  he 
could  have  driven  on  all  night,  so  she  was  at  his  side,  and 
her  sweet  voice  assured  him,  at  intervals,  of  her  welfare, 
and  of  her  perfect  confidence  in  and  reliance  upon  himself. 

They  had  accomplished  six  out  of  the  eight  miles  of 
their  way,  when  the  cloud  so  long  threatening  seemed  to 
burst  above  their  heads.  Down  leaped  the  rain,  and  in  an 
instant  they  were  drenched.  It  was  like  driving  under  the 
sheet  of  a  waterfall.  Burke  had  wrapped  his  heavy  shawl 
about  Lucy,  but  it  required  all  the  strength  of  his  arm  to 
confine  it  in  place  against  the  wild  wind  that  was  blowing. 
The  horses  knew  the  road  even  better  than  their  driver ; 
so  one  cause  of  danger  was  removed.  Neither  could  give 
much  account  of  the  remainder  of  their  drive.  Lucy  only 
remembered  that,  as  she  hid  her  dazzled  eyes  from  the 
blinding  glare  of  the  lightning,  Burke's  clear  voice,  a  little 
shaken  from  its  usual  grave  calm,  sounded  through  the 
uproar  and  confusion  in  words  of  assurance  and  concern. 

Very  soon  they  were  at  home ;  and  Lucy,  drenched  and 
cold,  but  laughing  at  her  father's  face  of  alarm,  was  lifted 
by  him  from  the  wagon,  and  carried  into  the  house.  A 
scene  of  confusion  followed.  Miles  Elliot  had  arrived  in 
their  absence.  There  were  hurried  greetings,  exclama- 
tions, laughter,  running  up  and  down  stairs,  and  opening 
and  shutting  of  doors.  In  the  midst  of  it  all,  Lucy  was 
ordered  off  to  her  own  room,  where  her  mother  and  Mary 
relieved  her  of  her  wet  clothes,  and  forced  her,  under  pro- 
test, into  bed.  Mr.  Burke,  who  felt  obliged  to  return  to 


HILLSBORO'  FARMS.  223 

Colchester  that  night,  was  furnished  with  dry  apparel,  and, 
the  storm  having  somewhat  abated,  took  his  leave,  assuring 
Mrs.  Fraser,  with  his  usual  somewhat  formal  courtesy,  that 
he  should  feel  deeply  anxious  for  her  daughter,  and  should 
avail  himself  of  the  earliest  opportunity  to  inquire  after 
her  health. 

When  he  was  gone,  Mrs.  Fraser  went  up  to  Lucy's  room, 
and  Miles  and  Mary  turned  into  the  parlor. 

"  Well,  Miles,  what  do  you  think  of  Lucy  ?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  say  I  have  seen  her  yet ;  but  as  nearly  as 
I  could  determine  from  under  her  dripping  bonnet,  she  has 
not  grown  plain.  But,  Mary,  isn't  Singleton  Burke  —  well 
—  a  little — a  little  soft,  perhaps,  on  Lucy?" 

"Did  you  think  so,  Miles?" 

"I  did,  certainly." 

"  You  are  probably  mistaken.  Burke  is  not  a  soft-heart- 
ed boy,  like  you  —  in  love  with  every  girl  he  sees." 

"  That  only  proves  that  he  will  have  the  disease  hard 
when  he  does  take  it.  Now,  I  am  convalescent  in  a  few 
days,  and  sound  in  a  week ;  but  when  a  man  like  Burke 
so  far  forgets  himself  as  to  let  his  eyes  tel^  the  story  his  did 
to-night,  in  looking  after  her  as  she  turned  round  on  the 
stairs  —  why,  things  look  desperate.  She  was  handsome 
enough,  to  be  sure,  to  call  a  man's  heart  into  his  eyes. 
Poor  old  fellow !  I  am  sorry  for  him." 

"  What  is  the  ground  of  your  compassion  ?  " 

"  O,  unless  she  is  changed  from  the  girl  I  knew,  she  will 
lead  him  a  chase !  Serve  him  right,  too,  for  delaying  till 
his  time  of  life  to  fall  in  love.  Come,  Mary ;  I  want  to  see 
little  Elliot." 


224  HJl.LRBORO'    FARMS. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

LUCY  suffered  no  ill  consequences  from  the  wetting  she 
had  got,  and  was  quite  ready  next  day  to  enter  into  all 
plans  for  the  general  amusement.  Mr.  Burke,  according  to 
his  promise,  came  soon  to  assure  himself  of  her  welfare. 
It  was  noticeable  how  often,  about  this  time,  business  hap- 
pened to  call  the  latter  gentleman  in  the  direction  of  Hills- 
boro' ;  and  as  he  never,  on  these  occasions,  failed  to  look 
in  upon  his  friends  at  the  Erasers',  they  consequently  saw 
a  good  deal  of  him.  Mr.  Fanshaw  was  still  detained  by 
the  affairs  which  had  called  him  to  the  West ;  and  Mary 
was  thus  enabled  still  further  to  prolong  her  visit.  Miles 
went  and  came  between  Colchester  and  the  farms,  staying 
a  day  or  two  first  in  one  place  and  then  in  the  other,  and 
making  himself  J^ery  useful  and  agreeable. 

Early  one  warm  afternoon,  a  day  or  two  after  the  meet- 
ing at  Edgehill,  Hannah  and  Lydia  Page  were  together  in 
their  own  pleasant  sitting-room.  Hannah's  needle  flew  in 
and  out  of  the  long  seam  of  a  sheet  she  was  sewing,  while 
Lydia  was  quite  absorbed  in  the  completion  of  a  bit  of  em- 
broidery destined  to  adorn  some  article  of  her  bridal  apparel. 
The  painted  shades  of  the  windows  were  drawn  down  to  ex- 
clude the  hot  sunshine,  but  the  doors  of  both  entries  were 
open,  admitting  a  draught  of  soft  south  wind.  Both  sisters 
were  occupied  with  their  own  thoughts,  and  the  silence  in 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  225 

the  room  was  broken  only  by  the  slow  ticking  of  the  clock 
and  the  drowsy  buzzing  of  the  house-flies. 

So  absorbed  were  they  that  neither  had  perceived  any 
sound  of  footsteps  without,  till  Lydia's  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  a  shadow  darkening  the  doorway,  and,  looking 
up,  she  saw  a  gentleman  standing  on  the  threshold.  He 
wore  a  summer  suit  of  white  linen,  and  stood  with  one 
hand  raised  upon  the  casing  of  the  door,  while  the  other, 
holding  his  hat,  rested  lightly  on  hia  hip.  Lydia  regarded 
him  for  a  moment  in  surprised  silence.  The  intruder  re- 
turned her  gaze,  also  without  speaking,  but  with  a  ques- 
tioning look  in  his  smiling  brown  eyes. 

In  an  instant  Lydia  sprang  up,  a  flush  of  pleasure  over- 
spreading her  face  as  she  exclaimed,  — 

"  It  is  —  it  really  is  —  Mr.  Stafford !  O,  you  said  you 
would  come  back  in  a  year  and  a  day." 

"  And  I  have  kept  my  word  so  badly,  Miss  Lydia,"  an- 
swered the  gentleman,  warmly  clasping  her  extended  hand, 
"  that  you  had  some  difficulty  in  recognizing  your  old  friend. 
Dear  Miss  Page,"  he  continued,  as  Hannah  came  eagerly 
forward  to  welcome  him,  "  I  hope  you,  too,  will  not  find 
me  so  changed." 

u  I  should  have  known  you  anywhere,"  Hannah  replied. 

"  And  you,  kindest  of  friends,  are  little  altered.  But 
your  young  sister  here  —  three  years  have  wrought  a 
transformation  in  her,  and  of  the  happiest  kind ; "  and  he 
looked  with  undisguised  admiration  at  the  young  girl, 
whose  flushed  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes  evinced  at  once 
her  pleasure  at  seeing  him  again,  and  the  agreeable  con- 
sciousness of  her  own  heightened  beauty. 

"  And  where  have  you  been  all  these  years,  Mr.  Staf- 
15 


226  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

ford  ?  "  she  asked,  when,  their  first  excitement  a  little  over, 
he  was  seated  between  them,  seeming  to  slide  at  once  and 
naturally  into  his  old  place  in  their  regard. 

"  Wandering  up  and  dowii  the  earth,  Miss  Lydia,  a  leaf 
driven  by  the  wind.  When  I  left  Hillsboro',  three  years 
and  more  ago,  it  was  to  proceed  to  England,  whither  some 
business  called  me.  I  remained  for  more  than  a  year  in 
Europe,  and  then  joined  some  friends  who  were  going  to 
South  America.  I  returned  to  this  country  last  winter, 
and  since  then  have  been  more  than  usually  occupied  by 
business  affairs  ;  so  that  this  is  my  first  pleasure  excursion. 
I  came  to  Edgehill  on  a  short  visit,  arriving  only  last  night, 
and  you  were  my  first  thought  after  receiving  the  kind 
greetings  of  my  cousin  John." 

"  Your  cousin,  Mr.  Stafford !  Is  Mr.  Gore  a  relative  of 
yours  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  the  nearest,  almost  the  only,  relative  I  have 
in  this  country.  He  was  first  cousin  to  my  father,  his 
mother  being  a  Stafford.  I  thought  I  had  mentioned  our 
relationship  before." 

"  No ;  we  thought  he  was  a  person  you  had  business 
with." 

"  And  so  he  was  —  poor  man !  He  was  appointed  my 
guardian,  or,  rather,  joint  guardian  with  another  gentle- 
man ;  and  he  has  had  trouble  enough  with  my  belongings, 
though  I  never  saw  him  until  that  winter  when  I  first  met 
you." 

"  How  long  had  you  been  standing  in  the  doorway  when 
I  saw  you  ?  " 

"  Only  a  moment.  Will  you  believe  me,  dear  friends,  I 
half  resolved,  as  I  drew  near  your  house,  to  drive  on,  and 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  227 

not  risk  the  chances  of  a  disappointment  here.  I  was 
afraid  of  change  —  of  forgetfulness.  I  dreaded  to  dispel 
the  happy  recollection  I  retained  of  our  brief  acquaintance. 
I  think  I  remember  everything  connected  with  my  stay 
here.  What  has  become  of  that  charming  young  friend 
of  yours  —  Miss  Elliot  ?  " 

"  She  is  not  Miss  Elliot  now,"  Hannah  replied  ;  "  she  is 
married." 

"  Of  course  she  is ;  and  I  dare  wager  whatever  you  please 
that  the  handsome  schoolmaster  is  the  fortunate  man." 

"  Ah !  you  used  your  eyes  those  stormy  days.  Yes, 
Mary  is  Mrs.  Fanshaw  now." 

"  And  your  pretty  cousin  —  where  is  she  ?  " 

"  She  is  at  home." 

"  Do  you  mean  me  to  understand  that  she  is  still  sin- 
gle?"  ' 

"Yes." 

"  What  are  the  young  men  of  this  town  thinking  of,  to 
allow  so  much  beauty  to  go  unappropriated  ?  They  cannot 
be  greatly  alive  to  their  own  interests." 

"  I  don't  know  how  that  is.  But  Lucy  is  at  home  this 
afternoon.  If  you  would  like  to  walk  up  there,  I  know  she 
would  be  glad  to  see  you." 

"  I  will  go,  with  pleasure." 

"  Did  I  tell  you  that  Mary  Fanshaw  is  there  on  a  visit  ?  " 

"Indeed  you  did  not.  I  shall  be  charmed  to  renew 
my  acquaintance  with  her.  Shall  we  meet  Mr.  Fans'haw, 
also?" 

"  No ;  he  is  away  in  the  West,  and  she  is  staying  with 
Lucy." 

"I  see  it  was  my  fortunate  star  which  brought  me  hither 


228 


to-day.  So  many  old  friends  at  once;  it  is  an  unlooked- 
for  pleasure." 

Hannah  summoned  a  boy,  who  was  at  work  in  the  gar- 
den, to  put  Mr.  Stafford's  horse  in  the  stable ;  and  presently 
she  and  their  guest  set  out  together,  Lydia  exacting  from, 
them  a  promise  to  be  sure  and  return  to  tea. 

"Which  way?"  asked  Stafford,  as  they  crossed  the 
greensward  between  the  door-stone  and  the  road. 

"  This.  I  forgot  that  you  had  never  been  at  uncle  Rob- 
ert's." 

"  You  remember  my  knowledge  of  Hillsboro'  was  limited 
to  your  house.  Up  this  hill?  This  is  the  way  I  came. 
Which  of  the  many  pleasant  farms  I  passed  is  the  one  ?  " 

"  Neither.  Uncle  Robert  lives  on  that  road  going  up 
the  hill  to  the  north.  But,  Mr.  Stafford,  did  you  notice,  as 
yo'u  came  down,  a  new  house,  about  half  a  mile  from  here, 
among  some  pretty  trees  ?  " 

"  On  the  right,  coming  from  Edgehill  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Well,  that  is  where  Lydia  is  going  to  live  in 
October." 

"  A — h !  Then  there  is  a  young  gentleman  in  this  case. 
I  half  hinted  to  your  sister,  while  you  were  out,  my  sus- 
picion that  there  must  be ;  but  the  little  hypocrite  de- 
nied it." 

"  It  is  true,  however ;  and  we  are  all  much  pleased  with 
the  connection." 

"  It  gives  me  sincere  pleasure  to  hear  you  say  so.  I  have 
always  cherished  a  strong  regard  for  your  frank,  warm- 
hearted sister;  and  no  one  will  more  cordially  congratulate 
her  on  her  prospects  of  happiness.  Who  is  the  young 
man?" 


HILLSBORO*    FARMS.  229 

"  It  is  Ben  Miller,  son  of  Major  Miller,  a  neighbor  of 
ours  just  below  here." 

"  Ben  Miller.  That  name  sounds  familiar.  Is  he  a  hand- 
some fellow,  with  blue  eyes  and  fine  shoulders  ?  " 

"  Ben  has  blue  eyes,  and  we  think  him  good-looking. 
But  where  have  you  seen  him  ?  " 

"  I  shovelled  snow  beside  him  for  several  hours  after 
that  eventful  storm  which  you  remember." 

"  Mr.  Stafford,  I  have  not  thought,  until  this  minute,  to 
inquire  what  ever  became  of  that  boy  you  picked  up  that 
dreadful  night." 

"  What  —  Figaro  ?  He  is  ojje  of  my  chief  retainers,  and 
is  invaluable  to  me." 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  keep  him  ?  " 

"  I  kept  him  at  first  because  he  insisted  upon  staying ; 
there  was  no  getting  rid  of  him ;  and  I  keep  him  now  be- 
cause I  really  could  not  well  live  without  him." 

"  I  did  not  think  he  knew  enough  to  be  useful." 

"He  is  extremely  useful.  There  is  scarcely  anything  he 
cannot  do,  from  cooking  an  omelet,  or  making  a  bed,  to 
loading  my  pistols  and  grooming  my  horse.  Nature  seems 
to  have  been  a  little  niggardly  to  him  in  the  matter  of 
brains;  and  yet  he  has  a  wonderful  quickness  in  some 
things.  He  never  fails  to  detect  the  slightest  shade  of 
meaning  in  the  orders  I  give  him.  My  face  and  voice 
seem  to  be  the  book  he  has  undertaken  to  study,  and  he 
has  well  mastered  the  lesson." 

"  You  must  be  attached  to  him." 

"  It  is  impossible  not  to  give  some  portion  of  regard  to 
one  who  so  blindly  believes  in  us.  Perhaps  it  is  just  be- 
cause his  faith  is  so  unquestioning  that  I  like  him." 


230  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  He  has  none.  I  called  him  Figaro  for  the  whim  of  it, 
and  the  appellation  has  stuck  to  him.  I  made  inquiries  at 
Kiffton,  but  nobody  knew  anything  about  him.  The  old 
woman  who  kept  him  either  did  not  or  pretended  not  to 
know.  You  see  I  am  home,  friends,  and  country  to  the 
boy." 

"  And  religion,  too,  I  suppose." 

"  I  doubt  if  the  little  scamp  has  much  religion.  He 
speaks  the  truth  to  me  ;  he  does  not  swear,  for  he  is  not 
talkative  ;  he  need  not  steal,  for  I  give  him  everything  he 
wants.  Beyond  that  I  will  not  undertake  to  speak." 

They  were  now  approaching  Mr.  Fraser's  house,  and 
Stafford  paused  in  surprise  to  look  around  over  the  wide 
and  varied  prospect.  "  This  is  a  fine  place,"  he  said,  as  he 
followed  Hannah  up  the  walk  under  the  drooping  elms. 
"  Has  your  uncle  a  large  family  ?  " . 

"  Lucy  is  the  only  child.  It  seems  very  still  here.  I 
hope  they  have  not  gone  away." 

The  house  did,  indeed,  wear  a  somewhat  deserted  look. 
The  blinds,  even  to  the  summer  doors,  were  closed ;  no 
sign  of  life  was  anywhere  visible,  and  perfect  silence 
reigned  about  the  premises.  The  long  branches  of  the 
elms  drooped  languidly  in  the  hot  sunshine,  and  the  white 
roses  blossoming  everywhere  looked  faint  in  the  heat. 
Hannah  threw  open  the  Venetian  doors,  and  they  stepped 
into  the  hall. 

"  There  must  be  some  one  round,"  she  said.  "  Just  walk 
in  here,  Mr.  Stafford,  and  I  will  see  if  I  can't  find  them." 

She  ushered  him  into  the  cool,  dim  parlor,  and  left  him 
there  while  she  went  in  quest  of  some  of  the  family.  As 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  231 

his  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  dim  light,  Stafford  had 
leisure  to  look  about  him,  and  observe  the  room  in  which 
he  found  himself.  It  was  a  large  apartment,  running  across 
the  entire  end  of  the  house,  and  filled  with  handsome,  old- 
fashioned  furniture.  A  rich,  soft  carpet  muffled  the  sound 
of  his  footfall;  vases  of  flowers  stood  here  and  there,  filling 
the  air  with  fragi-ance ;  while  scattered  all  about  the  room 
were  articles  rare  and  curious,  collected  by  the  captain  in 
his  many  voyages. 

These,  however,  received  but  a  passing  glance,  for  the 
attention  of  the  gentleman  had  been  riveted,  almost  from 
the  moment  of  his  entrance,  by  a  picture  which  hung  upon 
the  wall.  It  was  the  portrait  of  Lucy,  which  had  been  sent 
from  Paris  to  her  parents  about  a  year  before.  Stafford 
stood  entranced  before  what  he  conceived  to  be  some  ideal 
head,  not  detecting,  not  even  dreaming  of  any  resemblance 
between  it  and  the  lovely  young  girl  who  had  opened  to  him 
a  door  of  shelter  on  that  wild,  stormy  night,  so  long  ago. 
About  the  sweet  mouth  hovered  the  faint  dawn  of  a  smile, 
and  the  brow,  shaded  by  flowing  hair,  had  an  almost  child- 
like purity ;  but  in  the  deep-blue,  level-looking  eyes  slept 
a  world  of  steadfast  purpose,  and  in  the  sweet  curve  of  the 
red  lips  was  the  tenderness,  not  of  a  child,  but  of  a  woman. 

As  Stafford  stood  earnestly  contemplating  the  picture, 
and  vainly  endeavoring  to  determine  what  dim  memory  it 
recalled,  he  was  roused  by  a  light  step  near,  and  the  soft 
rustle  of  a  lady's  dress ;  and  turning,  he  beheld,  radiant 
with  warm,  youthful  life,  the  counterpart  of  the  picture. 
He  heard  Hannah  pronounce  the  name  of  Lucy  Fraser,  a 
sweet  voice  uttered  some  graceful  words  of  welcome,  and 
fingers  like  rose-leaves  rested  for  a  moment  in  his  own. 


282  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

He  stammered  and  was  confused.  For  one  of  the  few 
times  in  his  life  he  lost  his  self-possession.  In  place  of 
the  pretty,  bashful  girl  he  remembered  and  expected,  there 
met  him  this  peerless  creature,  whose  graceful  equanimity, 
fortunately,  went  far  in  restoring  his  own. 

Motioning  her  visitor  to  a  chair  near  herself,  Lucy  pushed 
open  the  blinds  of  one  of  the  front  windows,  which  lay  in 
the  shadow  of  the  trees,  and,  seating  herself,  she  placed 
the  little  work-basket  she  carried  on  the  table  before  her. 
Leaning  back  in  her  chair,  with  one  arm  resting  on  the 
low  window-sill,  and  fingers  playing  idly  with  the  leaves 
of  the  creepers  that  looked  in,  she  turned  to  Stafford,  with 
renewed  assurances  of  her  pleasure  in  this  unexpected 
meeting.  As  she  sat  writh  the  broken  light  which  fell 
through  the  trees  playing  over  her  figure,  a  soft  color  in 
her  cheek,  and  a  smile  of  pleasure  on  her  lips,  Hannali 
contemplated  her  with  a  feeling  of  secret  satisfaction.  She 
had  observed  with  how  much  more  animation  Stafford  had 
spoken  of  seeing  Mary  than  he  had  evinced  at  the  prospect 
of  renewing  his  acquaintance  with  Lucy,  and  she  indulged 
in  a  slight  feeling  of  triumph  at  his  evident  surprise  and 
admiration.  She  had  seen,  before  returning  to  the  parlor, 
that  Lucy  wore  one  of  her  most  becoming  gowns  —  a  rose- 
colored  muslin  of  cloud-like  delicacy.  The  thin  folds, 
edged  with  narrow  lace,  were  closed  at  the  throat  with  a 
spray  of  green  leaves,  and  the  large,  open  sleeves,  falling 
back,  displayed  her  round,  tapering  arms. 

"  Hillsboro',  Mr.  Stafford,  gives  you  a  different  welcome 
from  that  extended  to  you  three  or  four  years  ago." 

"  Different,  and  yet  the  same.  The  warmth  of  hospitality 
made  a  summer  only  less  delightful  than  this.  But  it  is 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  233 

very  beautiful  here  now.  We  were  admiring,  as  we  came 
up,  the  magnificent  reach  of  country  from  this  hill-side. 
It  is  quite  unsurpassed  in  its  way." 

"Every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  Hillsboro'  fondly 
thinks  it  unsurpassed  in  every  way  —  do  they  not,  Han- 
nah? But  the  whole  country  is,  indeed,  looking  more 
beautifully  than  I  ever  saw  it  before.  Perhaps  the  season 
is  propitious." 

"Perhaps,  Lucy,"  said  Hannah,  "you  have  been  gone 
so  long  that  you  had  forgotten  how  it  did  look.  My 
cousin,  Mr.  Stafford,  is  almost  as  much  a  stranger  here  as 
you  are." 

"  Indeed,  Miss  Fraser,  have  you  been  long  away  ?  " 

"  Something  over  three  years.  I  went  to  Europe  with 
my  grandfather  in  the  spring  after  you  were  here,  and  we 
have  led  a  kind  of  vagabond  life  ever  since." 

"Vagabondizing  is  not  to  your  taste,  I  infer." 

"  O,  yes,  it  is ;  I  am  almost  ashamed,  under  this  respec- 
table roof,  to  confess  how  much  so.  I  used  to  think  of  my 
father  and  mother,  and  the  dear  old  house  on  the  hill,  and 
shed  a  tear  or  two  now  and  then ;  but  I  staid  away." 

"Did  you  weary  that  you  came  at  last?" 

"  No.  My  father  threatened  to  come  after  us,  bring  me 
home,  and  shut  my  grandfather  up  in  a  lunatic  asylum ; 
so,  to  save  him  a  voyage  to  India,  we  came." 

"To  India?" 

"  O,  yes.  My  grandfather  was  compelled  to  go  to  Ma- 
dras, and  I  went  with  him,  unwilling  to  lose  the  possible 
chance  of  riding  in  a  howdah,  or  seeing  live  tigers  in  real 
jungles." 

"And  were  you  gratified?" 


234  HILLSBORO*   PAEMS. 

"  In  the  first,  yes,  to  iny  heart's  content.  But  for  the 
other,  I  returned  as  ignorant  as  I  went.  I  fear  I  shall 
never  see  a  tiger  hunt." 

"  The  show  hunts  are  very  tame  affairs,  and  anything 
else  very  terrible.  I  carry  two  rows  of  white,  stinging  scars 
in  my  arm  here  near  the  shoulder,  as  the  principal  result  of 
my  experience  in  that  direction." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Stafford,  how  did  you  get  them  ?  "  exclaimed 
Hannah,  in  a  tone  of  horror,  while  Lucy's  eyes  dilated. 

"From  two  rows  of  sharp,  terrible  teeth,  set  in  the  jaws 
of  a  royal  Bengal  tiger  —  a  more  intimate  acquaintance 
with  such  a  character  than  was  really  pleasant,  and  one 
which  I  naturally  embraced  the  first  opportunity  of  end- 
ing. But  pardon  me  for  mentioning  an  incident  so  un- 
pleasant. I  would  sooner  listen  to  your  Indian  experiences, 
which  I  trust  were  more  agreeable." 

Lucy  and  her  guest  glided  off  into  the  current  of  pleas- 
ant chat  about  countries  familiar  to  them  both,  and  Han- 
nah listened,  quietly  interested.  The  call  had  extended 
to  a  considerable  length,  and  the  latter  was  beginning  to 
think  of  Lydia  and  supper,  when  steps  were  heard  outside, 
and  presently  Miles's  voice,  singing  snatches  of  a  serenade. 
Attracted  by  their  voices,  he  came  and  leaned  on  the  win- 
dow where  Lucy  was  sitting.  Looking  from  the  bright 
sunlight  into  the  shaded  room,  he  did  not  perceive  the 
presence  of  a  stranger,  as  he  threw  into  Lucy's  lap  a 
magnificent  nosegay  of  roses  of  different  varieties. 

"  There,  Mistress  Lucy,"  he  said ;  "  I  met  the  most  fer- 
vent of  your  admirers  mooning  along  the  road  below 
here.  He  gave  me  these,  with  directions  to  bring  them 
to  the  '  queen  rose  in  the  rosebud  garden  of  girls,'  and  so 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  235 

forth,  and  to  tell  her  that  he  should  do  himself  the  honor 
to  follow  his  flowers  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or  two." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Miles  ?  and  where  did  you  get 
these  ?  "  said  Lucy,  putting  the  flowers,  quite  unconsciously, 
to  her  lips,  to  inhale  their  fragrance. 

"I  mean  precisely  what  I  have  said;  and  I  am  wonder- 
ing now  if  Burke  will  meet  as  sweet  a  reception  as  his 
flowers." 

"  What  a  simpleton  you  are,  Miles ! "  said  Lucy,  laugh- 
ing, but  blushing  a  little. 

"  That  is  gratitude ! "  exclaimed  Miles,  with  a  stage  air. 
"  Here  I  bring  another  man's  flowers  for  him,  say  all  his 
pretty  things,  —  Burke  wouldn't  do  as  much  for  me, — 
and  get  myself  called  a  simpleton  for  my  pains ! " 

He  turned  away  from  the  window,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment passed  the  open  parlor  door,  and  seated  himself  by 
Lucy's  desk  in  the  entry. 

Stafford,  meanwhile,  had  been  regarding  with  no  very  fa- 
vorable eyes  this  handsome  youth,  whose  careless  assurance 
of  manner,  and  evidently  familiar  footing  in  the  house,  he 
found,  somehow,  strangely  distasteful.  He  caught  himself 
wondering  who  the  fellow  could  be.  He  knew  that  Lucy 
had  no  brother,  and  he  might  be  almost  anything  else. 
And  there  was  another  fellow  too,  it  seemed,  who  had  the 
assurance  to  send  flowers  and  familiar  messages  to  this 
perfect  creature  —  confound  his  impudence!  And  the 
next  moment  the  gentleman  was  laughing  secretly  at  his 
own  absurdity  in  being  jealous  of  a  woman  whom  half  an 
hour  before  he  had  cared  nothing  about. 

Their  conversation  was  now  interrupted  by  the  sound 
of  wheels,  and  Mary  and  the  captain,  who  had  been  out 


236  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

for  a  drive,  entered  the  room.  Stafford  met  from  the  former 
the  same  warm  reception  accorded  him  by  his  other 
friends.  She  assured  him,  with  the  most  winning  cordi- 
ality, of  her  pleasure  in  again  meeting  him,  answered  his 
inquiries  for  her  husband,  and  presented  her  handsome 
boy  to  his  notice.  The  captain,  too,  tendered  the  hospi- 
talities of  the  house  with  a  bluff  but  not  ungraceful  hearti- 
ness. 

"  I  think,  young  gentleman,"  he  said,  "  that  I  remember 
your  father  as  a  young  man.  He  used  to  come  to  Edge- 
hill  in  those  days.  He  was  afterwards  Bishop  Stafford,  if  I 
am  not  mistaken." 

"  My  father  was  Bishop  Stafford ;  but  he  died  before  I 
can  remember." 

"  So  he  did,  to  be  sure.  He  was  a  gay  young  man  then, 
according  to  our  puritanical  notions  of  a  parson.  Though 
you  have  his  figure,  you  do  not  look  like  him  in  the  face. 
Bless  me !  how  time  does  fly !  It  is  fifty  years  and  more 
since  I  came  home  from  Canton,  a  wild  young  fellow.  He 
was  staying  with  the  Gores  that  summer,  and  a  gay  one 
we  made  of  it." 

"  My  cousin  John  was  not  master  then." 

"  O,  no.  He  was  a  lad  at  school  —  the  only  son ;  but 
there  was  a  houseful  of  girl  cousins,  and  other  gay  young 
folks.  I  courted  and  married  my  wife  —  Heaven  rest  her 
sweet  soul  —  in  the  four  months  I  was  at  home." 

"  I  am  fortunate  in  awakening  recollections  so  pleasant. 
It  is  an  auspicious  beginning  to  a  new  acquaintance." 

"  I  believe  you.  Well,  come  and  see  us,  Mr.  Stafford. 
How  long  do  you  stay  in  Edgehill  ?  " 

Now,  the  gentleman  addressed  had,  an  hour  or  two  be- 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  237 

fore,  intended  to  leave  his  cousin's  the  next  morning ;  yet 
he  answered  promptly,  "  I  shall  remain  for  some  time,  prob- 
ably ;  perhaps  for  several  weeks." 

"  Then  come  often  and  see  us.  You  will  always  be 
welcome  —  to  the  old  man  for  your  father's  sake,  to  these 
young  folks,  I  know,  for  your  own." 

"I  appreciate  your  kindness,  sir,"  Stafford  replied,  warmly 
grasping  the  captain's  proffered  hand,  "  and  I  shall  not  fail 
to  avail  myself  of  it.  But  now  Miss  Page  is  growing  im- 
patient, and  I  am  compelled  to  take  my  leave ; "  and  mak- 
ing his  adieus  to  the  others,  he  allowed  Hannah  to  hasten 
him  away. 


238  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

WYCOMBE  STAFFORD,  the  father  of  the  personage  who 
figiires  in  this  story,  was  a  descendant  of  one  of  the  few 
families  among  us  which  have  retained  in  their  possession, 
ever  since  the  first  settlement  of  this  country,  an  amount 
of  wealth  sufficient  to  secure  them  an  enviable  social  posi- 
tion. Sprung  of  an  ancient  English  family,  claiming  gen- 
erations of  honorable  gentlemen  as  ancestors,  good  tories 
before  the  Independence  and  mild  conservatives  after,  they 
had  always  maintained  their  dignity  at  home,  and  a  share 
of  consequence  abroad.  In  the  passage  of  time  the  family 
had  been  gradually  narrowing,  until,  some  forty  years  be- 
fore the  present  date,  Wycombe  Stafford  and  John  Gore 
were  all  that  remained,  on  this  side  the  Atlantic,  of  the 
ancient  stock.  The  former  had  been  destined  by  his 
friends  for  the  church,  and  his  quiet,  scholarly  tastes  led 
him  to  find  that  life  congenial.  While  still  very  young, 
he  took  orders.  With  fair  talents  and  more  culture,  with 
wealth,  influence,  charming  manners,  and  a  dignified  pres- 
ence, the  road  to  preferment  was  easy  to  him,  and  the  as- 
cent rapid.  The  prosperous  years  passed  swiftly,  thinning 
slightly  the  fine  hair  about  the  white  temples  of  the  bishop, 
but  leaving  the  youthful  fire  of  his  eyeundimmed.  I  have 
my  own  reasons  for  thinking  that  he  was  not  insensible  to 
feminine  charms ;  but  it  is  certain  that  at  the  age  of  forty  he 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  239 

was  still  a  bachelor.  It  was  during  a  summer  spent  in  Eng- 
land, and  while  paying  a  visit  to  some  friends  in  the  coun- 
try, that  he  met  and  loved  Georgiana  Ross,  the  beautiful 
daughter  of  the  neighboring  rector.  Gay,  admired,  and 
only  nineteen,  she  gave  her  heart  to  the  handsome  Ameri- 
can clergyman ;  and  before  the  leaves  fell  in  autumn  he 
received  from  the  hands  of  her  father  his  lovely  bride. 
When  they  fell  again,  in  a  foreign  land,  and  far  from  the 
homo  of  her  youth,  they  covered  her  new-made  grave; 
while  her  stricken  husband  sat  in  his  lonely  home,  his  ears 
pierced  with  the  complaining  cry  of  the  infant  that  had  cost 
the  life  of  its  mother. 

For  two  years  he  bore  with  outward  calmness  his  heavy 
bereavement,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  a  fever,  termi- 
nating fatally,  left  the  poor  child  doubly  orphaned.  The 
boy,  who  bore  the  united  names  of  his  parents,  being 
called  George  Wycombe  Stafford,  was  left  by  the  will  of  his 
father  to  the  joint  guardianship  of  Mr.  Gore  and  of  Cap- 
tain Ross,  his  mother's  brother,  an  officer  in  the  British 
army.  The  property  which  Mrs.  Stafford  held  in  her  own 
right  was  left  to  the  management  of  the  latter,  while  the 
former  was  to  assume  the  care  of  the  child's  American  in- 
heritance—  much  the  larger  of  the  two. 

The  boy's  early  years  were  passed  in  England,  under 
the  roof  of  his  grandfather.  Bright,  high-spirited,  and 
engaging,  he  managed  to  have  his  own  way  with  nearly 
every  one.  His  guardian  was  usually  absent,  and  the  old 
rector  could  never  bear  to  cross  a  wish  of  the  child  whose 
beautiful  brown  eyes  were  so  like  those  of  his  own  lost 
darling.  Naturally  he  grew  up  wilful  and  undisciplined  ; 
but,  possessing  an  affectionate  and  loyal  nature,  with  a  strong 


240  HILLSBOBO'    FARMS. 

innate  sense  of  justice  and  right,  they  could  not  wholly 
spoil  him.  Agreeably  to  the  provisions  of  his  father's  will, 
he  received  his  education  at  Harvard,  afterwards  went 
through  the  form  of  studying  law,  a"nd  was  admitted  to 
the  bar  in  New  York.  But  the  possession  of  wealth  enough 
to  satisfy  his  not  extravagant  tastes  had  possibly  been 
among  the  causes  of  his  not  pursuing  his  profession  with 
any  great  degree  of  ardor.  With  a  man  whose  sense  of 
enjoyment  was  more  keen  than  his  ambition,  this  could 
hardly  fail  to  be  the  case.  Entering  the  world  with  every 
social  and  personal  advantage,  with  youth,  wealth,  good 
family,  and  the  most  perfect  health,  life  beckoned  him  gayly 
on.  Everywhere  society  received  with  smiles  her  favorite. 
Sometimes  in  America,  sometimes  in  Europe,  roaming  the 
broad  world  over  wherever  pleasure  or  adventure  called, 
years  went  over  his  head.  How  they  left  their  impress, 
what  of  good  and  what  of  evil  was  their  fruit,  how  the 
man  fulfilled  the  generous  promise  of  the  boy,  this  story 
must  be  allowed  to  tell. 

Two  weeks  before  the  appearance  of  Stafford  at  Hills- 
boro',  he  had  sat  one  morning  at  breakfast  with  his  friend 
and  law  partner,  Francis  Brainerd,  Esq.,  at  the  latter's 
bachelor  home  in  New  York.  The  two  had  been  cronies 
in  college,  and  the  friendship  between  them  had  since  re- 
mained unbroken  —  deepening,  indeed,  with  the  lapse  of 
years,  notwithstanding  the  extreme  diversity  of  their  char- 
acters. Brainerd,  a  grave,  practical  man  of  business,  with 
quiet  and  rather  scholarly  tastes,  might  have  been  thought 
to  have  little  in  common  with  a  brilliant  worldling  like 
Stafford,  the  spoiled  darling  of  society.  But,  then,  such 
anomalies  are  occurring  every  day ;  and,  indeed,  usually 


HILLSBORO'    FAUMS.  241 

they  are,  as  in  this  case,  anomalies  only  upon  the  surface. 
The  law  partnership  between  them  had,  it  must  be  ac- 
knowledged, been  merely  nominal,  at  least  until  recently. 
Stafford  had  seldom  troubled  himself  much  with  the  busi- 
ness of  the  firm.  But  when,  a  few  months  before,  he  had 
returned  from  his  journey  to  South  America,  it  was  to 
announce  that  he  was  tired  of  idling,  and  to  enter  with 
energy  and  ardor  into  the  pursuit  of  his  profession. 

On  the  morning  referred  to,  the  two  friends  were  occu- 
pied in  the  discussion  of  plans  for  the  future.  Brainerd, 
who  found  himself  compelled  by  the  exigencies  of  business 
to  go  to  Calcutta,  was  endeavoring  to  persuade  Stafford 
to  accompany  him.  The  latter  had  already  visited  India 
at  a  time  when  his  uncle,  Captain  Ross,  was  serving  in  that 
country,  and  was  half  inclined  to  accede  to  his  friend's  re- 
quest. He  was  withheld  by  a  consciousness  that  to  leave 
his  present  life  of  useful  activity,  and  return  to  his  old 
wandering  habits,  was  not  in  reality  the  most  judicious 
thing  for  him  to  do. 

While  they  were  yet  discussing  the  question,  a  letter  was 
brought  in  for  Mr.  Stafford.  It  was  from  Captain  —  now 
Colonel  —  Ross,  and  in  it  the  uncle  endeavored  to  impress 
upon  his  nephew  the  necessity  for  a  change  in  his  mode 
of  life.  He  begged  him  to  be  something,  either  an  Ameri- 
can or  an  Englishman,  outright  —  anything  rather  than  the 
nondescript  character  he  had  so  long  sustained.  He  re- 
minded him  of  the  duties  he  owed  to  society,  referred  to 
Ms  old  and  honorable  name,  which  seemed  likely  to  end 
with  him,  hinted  discreetly  at  a  choice  among  the  fair 
countrywomen  of  his  mother  as  a  proper  means  of  per- 
petuating it,  and  closed  with  some  matters  of  business, 
16 


242  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

which  he  thought  earnestly  demanded  the  personal  super- 
vision of  his  nephew.  This  last  part  of  the  letter  settled 
the  India  question  at  once ;  and  Brainerd  saw  with  disap- 
pointment that  he  would  be  compelled  to  make  the  journey 
alone.  Two  weeks  would  intervene  before  Stafford  pro- 
posed to  sail  for  England.  The  first  was  occupied  with 
seeing  Brainerd  off,  and  with  other  engagements  in  New 
York ;  and  some  days  of  the  second  he  determined  to  era- 
ploy  in  a  short  visit  to  his  cousin  at  Edgehill.  He  went ; 
he  met  his  old  friends  at  Hillsbor'o' ;  and  the  lovely  face 
of  Lucy  Fraser,  and  the  soft  music  of  her  voice,  proved  a 
spell  more  potent  than  the  demands  of  lawyers,  or  the 
sales  of  property  in  England.  He  despatched  a  letter  to 
his  uncle,  bidding  the  latter  act  for  him,  as  his  affairs  would 
detain  him  some  time  longer  in  America,  and  then  gave 
himself  completely  to  the  enjoyment  of  this  new  fancy. 
It  was  a  peculiarity  of  his  that  he  brought  to  the  pursuit 
of  whims  all  the  ardor  and  persistency  which  other  men 
give  to  the  graver  ends  of  life  —  to  the  struggle  for  wealth, 
fame,  or  power.  Was  he  pursuing  a  whim  now  ?  He  had 
known  many  lovely  women ;  their  smiles  had  been  lavished 
on  him  almost  from  boyhood ;  nevertheless,  no  deep  and 
serious  attachment  had  ever  been  among  his  experiences. 


HILLSBOEO'    FARMS.  243 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

SOME  time  passed,  during  which  Burke's  visits  increased 
in  frequency,  and  Stafford  found  occasion  to  be  at  Hills- 
boro'  more  than  once.  They  had  never  met,  however, 
though  each  often  heard  of  the  other ;  and  each  had  gath- 
ered some  idea  of  the  other's  footing  in  the  house.  Burke 
heard  of  the  pleasant  stranger,  storm-bound  among  them 
years  ago;  and  Stafford  needed  only  the  frequent  allusions 
to  their  Colchester  friend  to  perceive  the  probable  magnet 
which  drew  him  to  Hillsboro'. 

It  was  near  the  close  of  a  pleasant  afternoon  about  this 
time  that  Lucy  was  sitting  before  the  open  desk  in  the 
entry.  Some  half-written  sheets  lying  before  her  showed 
the  occupation  in  which  she  had  been  interrupted;  but 
now  she  was  leaning  back,  her  head  resting  just  below  the 
wreath  of  carved  lilies  that  finished  the  chair-back.  Beside 
the  desk,  and  facing  the  young  lady  of  the  house,  sat  Mr. 
Burke,  and,  in  his  arm-chair  by  the  door,  the  captain  was 
busy  with  his  evening  papers.  Mary's  voice  was  heard 
singing  to  her  child  up  stairs,  and  Miles  lay  on  the  grass 
under  the  trees.  Lucy  had  been  very  gay  during  the  gen- 
tleman's call ;  but  just  now  she  sat  in  a  listening  attitude, 
trying  to  catch  the  chorus  of  a  hay-maker's  song  that  float- 
ed up  from  the  valley  below.  The  slant  sunlight  streamed 
into  the  room,  and  brightened,  like  a  halo,  the  beautiful, 


244  HILLSBORO*    FARMS. 

reclining  head ;  and  her  companion  was  regarding  her  with 
an  expi'ession  which  would  have  been  quite  unmistakable, 
if  it  had  been  observed. 

She  had  not  yet  looked  up,  when  the  sound  of  a  strange 
voice  outside  caught  her  ear.  Some  one  was  talking  with 
Miles ;  and  the  next  moment  the  figure  of  Stafford  broke 
the  sunshine  in  the  doorway.  Lucy  recognized  the  new- 
comer with  some  animation,  as,  with  a  courteous  word  to 
her  grandfather,  he  advanced  to  where  she  sat.  She  greet- 
ed him  gayly,  giving  him  her  hand,  and  pushing  her  cat, 
which  had  grown  old  and  lazy,  from  the  chair  near,  to  give 
him  a  seat  at  her  side.  Lucy  briefly  introduced  the  gentle- 
men, who  bowed  to  each  other  with  something  more  than 
the  usual  empressement.  But  the  two  men  had  not  raised 
their  heads  from  that  profound  obeisance  before  the  mind 
of  each  had  arrived  at  certain  conclusions.  There  was  hos- 
tility behind  the  mask  of  politeness,  and  keen  scrutiny  in 
the  glance  with  which  each  surveyed  the  other.  A  pang 
of  angry  jealousy  shot  through  the  heart  of  Singleton 
Burke,  as  he  marked  his  handsome,  smiling  rival,  —  for  as 
such  he  instinctively  recognized  him,  —  and  Stafford  saw, 
with  extreme  dissatisfaction,  the  evidently  high  place  this 
grave  and  dignified  gentleman  held  in  the  good  graces  of 
the  young  lady  and  her  family. 

The  cat,  which  had  been  so  unceremoniously  dislodged, 
stretched  himself  lazily,  looked  at  the  chair  and  its  new 
occupant,  and  then,  turning  his  sleepy  eyes  upon  his  young 
mistress,  gave  a  light  spring  and  curled  himself  in  her  lap. 
Burke  smiled. 

"  I  see,  Miss  Fraser,"  he  said,  "  your  cat  evinces  the  nat- 
ural jealousy  of  an  old  friend  at  seeing  a  stranger  promoted 
to  a  place  he  had  thought  his  own." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  245 

"  Ratlier  the  readiness  of  a  skilful  general  in  retrieving 
a  lost  advantage,"  remarked  Stafford,  in  the  same  strain. 
"  Ah,  Mrs.  Fanshaw,  I  am  glad  to  find  you  still  here,"  he 
added,  as  Mary  just  then  glided  down  the  stairs. 

She  returned  his  greeting  graciously,  and  then  took  a 
seat  by  Burke,  to  whom  she  chiefly  devoted  her  attention, 
leaving  Stafford  quite  to  Lucy,  while  the  captain  called 
Miles  in  to  play  piquet  with  him.  Conversation  flowed 
smoothly  on,  sometimes  general,  sometimes  divided  into 
separate  channels.  Burke's  politeness  was  severely  taxed 
to  be  properly  attentive  to  his  kind  neighbor.  Ordinarily 
he  enjoyed  Mary's  sparkling  chat  —  all  the  more,  perhaps, 
that  he  had  no  fund  of  small  talk  himself;  but  now  he 
could  not  help  keeping  a  listening  ear  for  the  low  and  mar- 
vellously sweet  voice  which,  across  the  tall  desk,  discoursed 
to  Lucy  of  the  commonest  things,  but  in  a  tone  whose  rich 
modulations  were  more  expressive  than  most  men's  words. 
Once  he  darted  a  look  of  keen  inquiry  at  Lucy's  face,  and 
drew  a  breath  of  relief  as  he  noted  its  perfect  serenity,  and 
the  easy,  courteous  smile  with  which  she  listened  or 
replied  to  her  companion. 

"  Have  you  been  told  of  our  pleasant  plan  for  to-morrow, 
Mr.  Stafford  ?"  she  said,  at  length. 

"  Not  yet.  Pray  is  not  this  something  of  yours  which 
has  fallen  to  the  floor?" 

."Ah,  yes;  my  handkerchief.  Thank  you  for  return- 
ing it." 

"  This  a  handkerchief!     It  looks  like  a  mist- wreath." 

"It  is  a  handkerchief,  and  considered,  by  competent 
judges,  to  be  very  beautiful.  Mrs.  Fanshaw  will  tell  you 
so,"  answered  Lucy,  laughing,  as  she  spread  the  gossamer 
thing  on  the  desk  before  her. 


246  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  What  is  that  I  am  called  on  to  testify  to  ?"  asked  Mary, 
coming  forward,  while  Burke  also  leaned  towards  the 
desk. 

"To  the  beauty  of  my  handkerchief,  which  Mr.  Staf- 
ford's uneducated  eye  failed  to  detect." 

"Elegant! "  exclaimed  Mary,  in  a  genuine  burst  of  fem- 
inine admiration.  "  What  exquisite  embroidery,  and  what 
lace ! " 

"  Yes,  Mary,  that  lace  is  of  fabulous  value  —  real  Span- 
ish point.  But  I  see  you  do  not  detect  in  the  thing  what 
to  me  is  its  chief  beauty." 

"  I  see  nothing  peculiar,  beyond  the  embroidery  and  the 
lace.  Do  you,  Mr.  Stafford  ?  " 

"Nothing,  unless  it  be  this  delicate  flower-scent,"  raising 
it  to  his  face.  "  What  do  you  find,  Mr.  Burke  ?  "  reaching 
it  to  that  gentleman. 

"  I  am  dull,"  answered  Burke,  dropping  the  pretty  trifle 
as  if  it  had  burned  his  fingers.  "  I  see  nothing  different 
from  all  handkerchiefs." 

"  It  does-  differ  entirely  from  all  and  every  handker- 
chief." 

"  Has  it  a  magic  power,  like  that  given  by  the  Moor  to 
his  wife  ?  "  asked  Stafford. 

"  Not  precisely ;  yet  it  came  from  the  land  of  the  Moors. 
It  was  given  me  under  the  shadow  of  the  Alhambra." 

"You  pique  our  curiosity,  Miss  Fraser,"  Stafford  sard, 
taking  the  handkerchief  again  in  his  hands  and  turning  it 
from  side  to  side,  examining  it  carefully.  In  an  instant  he 
looked  up,  with  a  smile. 

"  You  have  found  the  secret  ?  "  asked  Mary. 

He  pointed  with  his  finger  to  the  four  corners  of  the  bit 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  247 

of  linen,  where,  wrought  with  exquisite  delicacy,  and  hid- 
den in  the  sprays  of  flowers  and  ferns  which  ornamented 
it,  appeared  the  four  letters  that  formed  the  musical  name 
of  its  owner,  distinct  when  known  to  be  there,  but  quite 
escaping  the  careless  eye. 

"It  is  a  pretty  fancy,"  said  Mary,  as  Stafford  laid  the 
handkerchief  gently  down ;  and  Lucy,  with  a  sudden  blush, 
for  which  she  could  hardly  have  accounted,  began  to  speak 
of  something  else. 

"  I  think  I  was  telling  you  about  our  fishing-party,  Mr. 
Stafford." 

"Yes.     Where  do  you  go,  and  when?" 

"  To  Long  Pond,  to-morrow.  Miles  was  to  have  sent 
you  a  note  to-day ;  but  he,  careless  boy,  forgot  it,  and 
promised  to  go  to  Edgehill  this  evening.  The  party  will 
consist,  besides  ourselves,  of  cousin  Hannah,  Lydia,  Ben 
Miller,  and  his  sister  Fanny.  May  we  reckon  upon  you 
also?" 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure  on  my  part.  At  what 
hour?" 

"  At  nine.    Miles  will  give  you  all  particulars." 

Miles  looked  up  suddenly  from  his  cards.  "I  beg  par- 
don, Lucy,"  he  said ;  "  I  quite  forgot,  until  this  moment, 
another  commission  with  which  you  charged  me,  when  I 
went  to  Colchester.  I  have  carried  this"  —  handing  her  a 
small  parcel  —  "  in  my  pocket  since  yesterday.  I  hope  it 
is  not  ruined." 

"  I  presume  not,"  answered  Lucy,  laughing ;  "  as  it  is 
only  some  riding-gloves  I  ordered  from  Barker's." 

"  What  in  the  world,  child,  possessed  you  to  send  for 
riding-gloves,  when  the  only  saddle-horse  on  the  premises 
is  lame?" 


248  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"In  the  natural  course  of  events,  grandpa,  that  horse 
must  recover  from  his  accident." 

"  It  is  an  event  you  are  likely  to  have  in  prospect  some 
time  yet." 

"  Yes ;  but  we  are  to  go  to  Major  Miller's  one  day  this 
week,  and  I  mean  to  use  my  best  generalship  to  get  from 
him  an  offer  of  his  pretty  gray." 

"  Have  you  no  fear  of  a  strange  animal  ? "  asked  Staf- 
ford. 

"None,  whatever;  if  he  will  carry  a  saddle,  it  is  all 
I  ask." 

"  Then  allow  me  the  pleasure  of  furnishing  you  with  a 
horse  until  your  own  has  got  over  his  lameness.  It  is  a 
beautiful  creature  which  Mr.  Gore  has  just  purchased;  and 
I  am  sure  he  would  be  delighted  if  you  would  consent  to 
ride  him." 

"Indeed,  you  are  very  kind,  Mr.  Stafford;  but  I  hardly 
like  —  I  fear  Mr.  Gore  might  — "  Lucy  hesitated,  but  her 
sparkling  eyes  told  with  how  much  pleasure  she  regarded 
the  proposition.  Mr.  Stafford  did  not  wait  for  her  objec- 
tions. 

"  Believe  me,  I  speak  with  a  full  knowledge  of  my  cousin 
John.  The  horse  was  bought  with  reference  to  a  young 
lady  who  is  to  visit  him  in  the  autumn,  but  is  standing 
idle  in  the  stable  now.  Do  not  hesitate,  I  entreat." 

"  Since  you  are  so  kind,  then,  I  accept.  The  truth  is,  I 
have  not  been  in  the  saddle  since  my  return  home ;  and  I 
am  getting  childishly  eager  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  a  good 
gallop  once  more." 

Burke,  impatient  and  uncomfortable  at  what  seemed  to 
him  Lucy's  open  show  of  preference  for  this  new  admirer, 


HILLSBORO'   FARMS.  249 

here  rose  to  go.  But  his  time  was  coming.  Lucy,  who 
was  talking  with  Stafford,  looked  up  as  he  approached  her, 
and  said,  with  a  smile  not  to  be  resisted,  — 

"O,  not  yet,  Mr.  Burke.  I  have  been  practising  that 
song  you  liked  the  other  day,  and  when  the  light  grows 
dim  and  pleasant  in  the  parlor  I  will  sing  it  to  you." 

Burke's  face  flushed  with  surprise  and  pleasure.  "  How 
shall  I  thank  you  ?  "  he  began. 

"  By  staying,  if  you  please,"  answered  Lucy,  sweetly. 

The  sunset  brightness  was  fading  slowly ;  even  near  ob- 
jects were  growing  indistinct  in  the  twilight,  and  on  the 
sward  before  the  door  the  moon  flung  faint  shadows  of  the 
elms,  when  Lucy,  rising,  led  the  way  to  the  parlor.  Within 
the  room  the  light  was  faint  and  uncertain,  and  her  white 
figure  moving  about  was  the  only  object  discernible.  Staf- 
ford remained  standing  in  the  doorway,  while  Burke  leaned 
on  the  piano  at  the  singer's  side. 

Lucy's  voice  was  not  powerful,  but  it  was  clear  and 
sweet,  and  had  a  wonderfully  tender  and  sympathetic 
quality.  The  song  she  had  chosen  was  an  old,  old  ballad, 
simple  and  plaintive,  a  story  of  love,  and  constancy,  and 
death.  The  music  —  low,  sweet,  and  slightly  monotonous 
—  suited  well  with  the  theme,  and  with  the  rich,  tender 
tones  of  the  singer's  voice,  and  its  effect  was  heightened 
by  the  plaintive  notes  of  a  whippoorwill,  which,  hidden  in 
the  green  shadows  of  the  orchard,  breathed  out  its  sorrow- 
ful complaint  upon  the  evening  air.  Stafford  loved  music 
passionately;  and  his  taste  was  cultivated  by  familiarity 
with  the  finest  productions  of  its  masters,  and  the  render- 
ings of  its  highest  artists ;  but  seldom  had  its  power  so 
touched  his  heart  as  now.  He  stood  leaning  against  the 


250  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

doorway,  the  soft,  odorous  gloom  of  the  room,  the  shadowy 
figures,  the  broken,  trembling  shadows  cast  by  the  moon- 
shine, the  murmur  of  the  summer  night-wind,  and  the 
melting  pathos  of  the  singer's  voice,  with  that  answering 
echo  from  the  mournful  bird  without,  all  combining  to 
produce  a  sense  of  exquisite  delight,  which  thrilled  him 
through  and  through. 

When  the  last  note  died  away  on  the  stillness  of  the 
room,  he  drew  a  long,  deep  breath,  like  one  released  from 
some  soft  spell.  Burke  spoke  his  thanks  in  a  few  simple, 
well-chosen  words;  but  something  in  Stafford's  heart  re- 
fused to  express  itself  in  the  compliments  usually  so  ready 
upon  his  lips.  In  a  very  few  moments  after,  he  took  his 
leave. 


HILLSBORO'  FARMS.  251 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  weather  next  morning  proved  entirely  propitious  — 
gray,  with  thin  clouds,  a  southwest  wind,  and  not  too  warm. 
Half  an  hour  before  the  appointed  time,  most  of  the  pleas- 
ure party  were  assembled  at  Mr.  Eraser's.  It  consisted  of 
the  captain,  his  daughter-in-law,  and  all  the  younger  mem- 
bers of  the  family,  Hannah,  Hernan,  and  Lydia  Page,  Ben 
Miller,  and  his  sister  Fanny.  The  conveyances  provided 
were  Squire  Fraser's  carryall,  over  which  the  captain  was 
to  preside ;  Ben's  one-horse  buggy  —  at  Lydia's  service,  of 
course;  and  a  similar  vehicle  belonging  to  Heman.  It 
wanted  but  a  few  minutes  to  nine,  but  neither  Stafford 
nor  Burke  had  yet  made  his  appearance. 

"  Now,"  said  the  captain,  coming  out  on  the  doorstep, 
spy-glass  in  hand,  "  I  can  see  nothing  along  the  road  of 
those  young  fellows.  It  wants  a  quarter  to  nine  ;  I  shall 
wait  twenty  minutes  for  them,  and  no  more.  Teach  them 
to  be  prompt.  Here  are  the  cattle ;  now,  how  shall  we 
bestow  ourselves  ?  " 

"  It  is  all  arranged,  grandpa,"  said  Lucy  ;  "  I  am  going 
with  Heman ;  Ben  and  Lydia  must  not  be  separated,  of 
course;  the  carryall  will  accommodate  the  rest  of  you. 
We  are  going  directly,  and  shall  expect  to  meet  you  at 
Ephraim  Green's.  We  shall  drive  fast,  as  the  morning  is 
cool.  Good  by.  We  are  off." 


252  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  Stop  a  minute.  Here  comes  a  boy  on  horseback.  I 
think  it  is  a  messenger." 

It  proved  to  be  the  bearer  of  a  note  from  Burke,  in 
which  the  writer  expressed  his  regret  that  an  unforeseen 
but  unavoidable  engagement  would  prevent  his  making  one 
of  the  party. 

"I  am  sorry  to  lose  him,"  said  Lucy;  "but  we  cannot 
afford  to  miss  our  day's  pleasure  on  his  account.  Come, 
Heman  ; "  and,  just  touching  her  cousin's  offered  hand,  she 
sprang  lightly  into  the  buggy,  and  they  drove  away. 

They  were  scarcely  gone,  when  the  captain,  who  had 
been  reconnoitring  the  road,  announced  that  Stafford  was 
coming. 

"  I  knew  he  would  be  here  in  season,"  Hannah  said, 
straining  her  eyes  to  catch  a  sight  of  the  approaching  car- 
riage. 

"  He  will  have  sharp  work  to  get  here  before  the  clock 
strikes,"  answered  the  old  man. 

"  He  will  come  well  up  to  it,  sir,  if  he  keeps  that  pace," 
said  Miles,  suddenly  coming  out  of  a  brisk  flirtation  with 
Fanny  Miller. 

But  a  very  few  moments  elapsed  before  Stafford's  light 
phaeton  whirled  up  to  the  door,  and  that  gentleman, 
springing  out,  exclaimed,  — 

"  My  dear  friends,  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me  if  I  have 
kept  you  waiting." 

"  The  clock  is  just  striking ;  you  are  punctual  to  a  min- 
ute," replied  the  captain. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it.  It  is  better  than  I  expected, 
as  I  was  detained  this  morning  by  some  unexpected  arri- 
vals. Good  morning,  Mrs.  Fraser;"  and  he  greeted  each 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  253 

• 
one  of  the  party,  looking  around  meanwhile  with  a  secret 

uneasiness  at  seeing  nothing  of  Lucy  or  of  Burke.  "  I  do 
not  see  your  friend,  Mr.  Burke,  Mrs.  Fanshaw;  are  we  not 
to  have  his  company  to-day?" 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  we  are  not.  Lucy  had  a  note  from 
him  this  morning.  He  is  detained  by  a  stupid  meeting  of 
trustees." 

"  And  Miss  Fraser  ?  " 

"  O,  she  was  off  some  time  since  with  her  cousin,  Pieman 
Page.  Just  the  weather  for  us  —  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Perfect.  Mrs.  Fraser,  I  hope  you  will  do  me  the  favor 
to  take  a  seat  in  my  phaeton.  You  will  find  it  more  com- 
fortable than  the  carryall." 

"Mr.  Stafford  is  right,  Susan,"  said  the  captain.  "Fan 
and  Mary  are  younger,  and  can  bear  crowding." 

The  two  gentlemen  assisted  Mrs.  Fraser  to  a  seat  in  the 
phaeton,  and  the  rest  of  the  party,  with  much  laughter  and 
confusion,  bestowed  themselves  in  the  carryall.  The  shawls 
and  overcoats  were  stowed  away,  the  hampers  securely 
buckled  on,  and  off  they  drove,  the  captain  leading  the 
way. 

The  distance  to  Long  Pond  was  some  dozen  or  fifteen 
miles ;  and  the  road  by  which  it  was  reached,  after  con- 
tinuing northward  for  some  time,  turned  to  the  east,  leav- 
ing the  hilly  district  of  Edgehill  and  Hillsboro'  for  a  region 
not  less  interesting,  but  of  softer  outlines.  They  passed 
no  villages,  but  all  along  their  way  smiled  green  and  fer- 
tile farms.  Winding  among  these,  through  still  woods 
and  by  half-hidden  watercourses,  they  came  at  length  in 
sight  of  the  pond.  Still  and  calm  it  lay  in  the  embrace 
of  the  wide  landscape,  reflecting  on  its  smooth  surface 


254  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

every  shade  of  the  soft  gray  canopy  of  cloud  bending  over 
it,  and  showing  in  its  clear  depths  every  rock  and  tree, 
green  field  and  swelling  knoll  along  its  shores.  In  the 
more  immediate  neighborhood  of  the  pond  the  country 
was  but  thinly  peopled ;  and  the  farm  of  Ephraim  Green, 
lying  near  the  head  of  the  lake,  was  nearly  a  mile  from 
any  neighbor.  A  winding  road,  skirting  the  edge  of  the 
pond,  led  to  the  house  —  a  large,  weather-colored,  wooden 
edifice,  facing  down  the  green  slope  to  the  pebbly  edge  of 
the  water. 

As  the  last  detachment  of  the  fishing  party  came  round 
a  curve  in  the  road,  and  drew  up  in  front  of  the  house,  its 
proprietor  was  engaged  in  sharpening  an  axe  on  a  screech- 
ing grindstone  under  an  apple  tree.  His  eldest  son,  Caleb 
Green,  together  with  Ben  and  Heman,  was  busy  about  a 
pretty  sail-boat,  that  swung  at  anchor  a  little  way  out  from 
shore.  Lucy  and  her  cousin  appeared  from  within  as  the 
carriages  stopped,  and  Mr.  Green  laid  down  his  axe  and 
approached  the  side  of  the  carryall. 

"  Wai,  I  declare,  Cap'n  Fraser !  You  hain't  got  too  old 
to  go  a  pleasurin'  yet.  These  all  your  grandchildren  ?  " 

"  How  are  you,  Ephraim  ?  All  my  grandchildren  !  Good 
Lord !  I  hope  not.  You  have  got  three  or  four  of  our 
young  folks  here  —  haven't  y  ou  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  s'pose  they  belong  to  you.  There's  one  gal  I 
knew  for  Robert  Eraser's  darter  the  minute  I  clapped  eyes 
on  her.  "Walk  right  in,  ladies ;  we'll  see  to  your  things. 
Show  'em  into  the  settin'-room,  Sally  "  —  this  to  a  freckle- 
faced  girl  who  appeared  at  the  door. 

While  the  ladies  were  ushered  into  the  house  by  Sally, 
to  shake  out  their  dresses,  smooth  their  hair,  and  make  all 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  255 

final  arrangements  for  a  day  on  the  water,  Stafford  and 
Miles  attended  to  the  conveying  of  the  well-filled  boxes, 
baskets,  fishing-tackle,  and  so  forth,  to  the  beach.  The 
room  into  which  Sally  conducted  the  ladies  was  a  large, 
uncarpeted,  unpapered  apartment,  the  sitting-room  of  the 
family.  It  was  scrupulously  clean,  but  had  a  chilly,  unin- 
viting aspect,  from  the  scant  furniture  and  staring,  white- 
washed walls.  In  an  arm-chair  by  the  window  sat  an 
ancient  dame,  the  mother  of  Ephraim,  who  viewed  the 
party  curiously  through  her  iron-bowed  spectacles,  and  put 
innumerable  questions  to  Captain  Fraser  about  the  excur- 
sion, the  party,  and  his  relationship  to  every  member  of  it. 

Stafford  presently  appeared  with  the  announcement  that 
the  boat  was  ready ;  and  he  gave  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Fraser, 
while  the  others  followed  to  the  beach.  The  water  being 
too  shallow  to  allow  of  the  sail-boat  coming  near  the  shore, 
the  party  were  to  be  transported  to  it  in  a  small  row-boat, 
which  was  now  drawn  up  on  the  sand.  Ben  Miller,  with 
a  brisk,  white-headed  boy  to  assist  him,  had  the  manage- 
ment of  the  smaller  craft,  while  Heman,  with  Caleb  Green, 
a  young  man  of  twenty,  was  already  on  board  the  sail- 
boat. 

Mrs.  Fraser,  Mary,  Hannah,  and  Fanny  Miller  were  to 
go  first.  They  were  quickly  handed  in,  and  Miles  sprang 
after  them. 

"  Quick,  Stafford !  you  will  be  too  late,"  he  cried,  as  the 
boy,  almost  knee-deep  in  water,  was  pushing  the  boat  off 
the  sand. 

"  I  will  wait  and  go  with  Captain  Fraser ;  you  are  full 
enough  without  me ; "  and,  sitting  down  on  the  log  where 
the  old  gentleman  was  resting  himself  and  enjoying  a  cigar, 


256*  HILLSBOBO'    FAEMS. 

he  watched  the  little  boat  as  the  strong  arms  of  the  young 
men  rowed  it  out  into  the  deep  water,  where,  rocking  idly, 
the  "Juliana"  lay  at  anchor.  Lucy  and  Lydia,  arm-in- 
arm, walked  up  and  down  the  beach  until  the  boat  re- 
turned. 

"  A  little  more  up  on  the  sand,  Miller ;  the  young  ladies 
will  wet  their  feet.  There,  that  will  do.  Miss  Lydia,  now 
for  it.  —  Miss  Fraser,  allow  me ; "  and  the  girls  were  trans- 
ferred from  the  beach  to  the  little,  shell-like  craft.  The 
captain  and  Stafford  followed,  and  the  latter,  taking  an 
oar,  assisted  Ben. 

"  Who  is  commander  of  this  expedition,  Ben  ?  "  asked 
Lucy,  as  they  shot  from  the  shore. 

"  Caleb  Green,  of  course.     He  manages  his  own  vessel." 

"Is  he  a  competent  officer?" 

"  Yes ;  he  has  kept  a  boat  on  this  pond  ever  since  he 
was  a  dozen  years  old." 

"You  see,  Ben,"  said  the  captain,  "Lucy  got  a  ducking 
once  by  going  sailing  with  a  crew  of  ninnies,  and  it  cost 
her  the  only  fit  of  sickness  she  ever  had." 

"  Are  you  afraid,  Lucy  ?  " 

"  O,  no,  Ben.  But  I  remember  how  I  felt  when  I  went 
under  water  the  last  time,  sure  that  I  should  never  see 
home  or  the  faces  of  friends  again.  It  was  not  a  pleasant 
sensation,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  experience  it  twice." 

"  I  should  be  afraid  if  I  had  been  through  all  that,"  said 
her  cousin. 

"I  am  not  afraid,  Lydia;  I  have  only  learned  to  be 
cautious.  I  like  to  know  whom  I  am  trusting,  and  how  far 
I  may.  When  we  have  suffered  once  from  a  too  ready 
confidence,  we  do  not  forget  the  lesson." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  257 

She  was  looking  away  over  the  gray  expanse  of  water 
as  she  spoke,  and  did  not  see  the  long,  keen  look  with 
which  Stafford  searched  her  face.  Just  then  the  boat 
touched  the  side  of  the  Juliana,  and  in  the  bustle  of 
transfer  the  subject  was  forgotten. 

The  anchor  was  lifted,  the  sails  spread,  and  a  light  wind 
bore  them  smoothly  over  the  pond.  The  thin  veil  of  clouds 
remained  unbroken ;  the  day  was  warm,  but  not  sultry. 
Dropping  their  anchor  near  the  middle  of  the  pond,  where, 
according  to  Caleb,  fish  abounded,  the  business  of  the  ex- 
pedition fairly  began.  Hannah,  Heman,  their  grandfather, 
and  Mrs.  Eraser  fished.  It  was  what  they  had  come  for. 
The  others  made  fishing  a  pretext  for  entertainment  of  a 
different  kind.  Miles  found  quite  constant  employment  in 
baiting  Fanny  Miller's  hook  —  which  hook,  by  the  way, 
caught  but  two  fish  during  the  day.  The  rest  of  the  party, 
gathered  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  held  their  lines,  and  now 
and  then  drew  in  a  fish ;  but  the  presence  of  a  strong 
counter  interest  in  the  minds  of  two  or  three  of  them  pre- 
vented the  occupation  from  becoming  an  absorbing  one. 

Mary  watched  Stafford  and  Lucy  narrowly.  She  had 
seen  from  the  first  the  gentleman's  admiration  of  her  beau- 
tiful friend,  and  observed  with  some  dissatisfaction  his  in- 
creasing attentions.  For  a  notable  plan  had  lately  taken 
form  in  Mary's  brain.  She  thought  of  a  great,  lonely 
house,  near  her  own,  at  Colchester,  and  pictured  to  herself 
Lucy  enlivening  and  adorning  it  with  her  presence.  She 
pleased  herself  with  imagining  all  she  would  enjoy  in  hav- 
ing Lucy  so  near  her;  and  she  saw  with  delight  that,  so 
far  as  Burke  was  concerned,  everything  went  as  she 
wished.  He  was  as  deeply  enamoured  a  man  as  she  could 
17 


258  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

desire  to  see.  But  there  all  her  satisfaction  ended.  Just 
as  she  had  begun  to  congratulate  herself  that  he  had  made 
a  favorable  impression,  and  to  believe  that  by  persever- 
ance the  hoped-for  result  might  be  effected,  this  danger- 
ously agreeable  stranger  had  stepped  upon  the  scene.  She 
could  not  help  seeing  that  in  some  respects  the  rivals  were 
unequally  matched.  Burke,  with  all  the  advantages  of  his 
recognized  position,  his  commanding  talents  and  honorable 
character,  yet  lacked  the  personal  qualifications  which 
would  make  such  advantages  available.  Indeed,  with  a 
girl  so  little  calculating,  so  wholly  unworldly,  as  Lucy,  the 
question  of  comparative  eligibility  between  two  suitors 
was  likely  to  be  settled,  should  it  call  for  settlement,  on 
principles  of  her  own.  If  she  had  been  in  the  least  degree 
in  love  with  Burke,  if  the  interest  she  felt  in  him  had  had 
even  a  shade  of  tenderness  in  it,  not  the  most  fascinating 
of  mortals  could  have  had  power  to  rival  him.  But,  being 
completely  heart-whole,  she  was  ready  to  be  entertained 
by  whomsoever  could  make  himself  most  agreeable.  Burke 
did  not  shine  in  conversation.  He  could  argue  a  knotty 
question  closely,  or  discourse  with  dignity,  and  even  with 
eloquence,  upon  matters  of  which  he  had  been  led  to  think 
much ;  but  his  intellect  had  no  rapid  play.  He  lacked  the 
abandon,  the  mental  laisser-aller,  which  allows  the  mind  to 
glance  lightly  from  point  to  point.  He  wanted  the  sense 
of  humor,  also,  without  which  there  is  apt  to  be  a  certain 
clumsiness  in  the  movements  of  the  most  superior  intel- 
lect ;  and  he  had  a  too  sensitive  amour  propre  to  be  able 
ever  quite  to  forget  himself  and  the  impression  he  might 
be  producing.  Stafford,  on  the  contrary,  with  a  less  com- 
manding mental  ability,  yet  had  those  traits  of  temper  and 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  259 

disposition  which  the  other  lacked  —  a  quick  sense  of 
humor,  fine  taste,  a  mind  rapid  as  lightning  in  its  play, 
and,  above  all,  a  perfect  sweetness  and  amiability  of  tem- 
per, and  a  genuine,  almost  boyish,  unconsciousness.  A 
vainer  man  than  Burke  he  might  be,  —  Mary  thought  him 
so,  and  I  am  inclined  to  think  she  was  right,  —  yet  his 
vanity  was  without  self-assertion,  and  its  chief  outward 
manifestation  was  seen  in  his  desire  to  give  pleasure  to 
all  around  him.  The  hundred  little  nameless  graces  and 
courtesies  which  displayed  themselves  in  his  manner  were 
therefore  as  much  the  natural  outgrowth  of  kindliness  and 
good  taste  as  of  mere  vanity.  Burke  held  all  these  in  con- 
tempt, as  in  some  degree  unworthy  the  dignity  of  a  man 
of  character. 

When  she  looked  at  Lucy,  Mary  was  completely  at  fault. 
She  could  not  understand  her  friend's  serene  unconscious- 
ness and  sweet  impartiality.  Was  she  cold?  Was  she 
so  dull  as  not  to  perceive  that  both  these  men  were  in 
love  with  her?  or  was  she  engrossed  with  thoughts  of  one 
absent  ?  In  all  these  suppositions  Mary  was  wide  of  the 
mark.  Lucy  herself  gave  the  key  to  her  conduct  when 
she  said,  a  few  pages  back,  that  she  was  cautious.  The 
lesson  of  her  early  experience  had  been  deeply  learned. 
Ardent  and  impulsive  as  she  was  by  nature,  will  now  held 
feeling  in  check.  She  would  not  too  easily  give  herself 
permission  to  love  again.  It  might  be,  however,  that  in 
this  very  self-control  and  power  of  repression  lay  a  source 
of  pain  deeper  than  the  old  child-like  unconsciousness.  The 
carefully  guarded  heart,  once  surrendered,  might  not  be  so 
easily  recalled. 

Lucy  had  grown  tired  of  sport,  and,  throwing  aside  her 


260  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

line,  leaned  languidly  against  a  coil  of  rope.  Mary  and 
Stafford  were  eagerly  playing  a  huge  pickerel  upon  the 
hook  of  the  former. 

"  Safe,  at  last,  Mr.  Stafford  ;  draw  him  in,"  cried  Mary, 
a  little  disconcerted  by  the  struggles  of  her  prize,  as  Staf- 
ford flung  him  into  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

"  There,  Mrs.  Fanshaw ;  I  think  our  side  can  afford  to 
take  a  holiday  until  Captain  Eraser's  detachment  can  equal 
that." 

"  Lucy  seems  to  be  taking  one  already.  Are  you  tired, 
iny  dear  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  believe  I  don't  like  fishing ;  and  if  it  is  not 
agreeable,  why  should  I  do  it?" 

"  Didn't  you  come  to  fish  ?  "  asked  Lydia. 

"By  no  means  :  I  came  for  the  fine  weather,  the  people, 
and  the  sail." 

"  I,"  said  Lydia,  "  came  for  all  those,  but  with  an  eye 
for  the  fish  at  the  same  time.  We  have  enough  for  dinner, 
now.  When  shall  we  land,  Ben  ?  " 

"  In  an  hour  or  so." 

"Where?" 

"  Down  below  here  about  a  mile,  at  a  place  called  the 
Table  Rock." 

"  If  Mr.  Burke  had  only  come  with  us,  now ! "  said  Lucy. 
"  He  said  there  was  a  story  about  the  Table  Rock ;  and  he 
could  have  told  it." 

"  Mr.  Burke  is  unfortunate  in  losing  so  fine  a  day  on  the 
water." 

"  Yes ;  and  when  I  left  home  this  morning,  you,  too,  were 
given  up." 

"  I  nearly  failed  of  my  time.     But  on  reaching  home 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  201 

last  night,  I  found  company  at  ray  cousin's ;  and  it  was 
only  by  pleading  important  business  that  I  made  my  es- 
cape. Mrs.  Sandoval  exacted  from  me  a  promise  to  return 
as  soon  as  I  had  disposed  of  it." 

"  Is  it  Mrs.  Lawrence  Sandoval  you  are  speaking  of?  " 
asked  Mary. 

"  The  same." 

"  Are  her  daughters  with  her  ?  " 

"  One  daughter,  whom  I  think  she  called  Laura." 

"  Laura  Sandoval  at  Edgchill ! "  exclaimed  Lucy,  turning 
to  look  over  her  shoulder.  "  I  have  heard  so  much  of  her ! 
Is  she  not  very  beautiful,  Mr.  Stafford  ?  " 

"If  so,  I  did  not  observe  it.     Is  she  reputed  a  beauty?" 

"  I  have  heard  that  she  is  very  lovely." 

"You  awaken  my  curiosity.  I  shall  observe  Miss  Sau- 
doval  more  closely.  Never  having  heard  of  her  before,  I 
remember  only  a  tired,  rather  languid  young  lady,  not  so 
interesting  as  her  mamma,  whom  I  met  at  breakfast  this 
morning." 

"You  must  have  been  very  much  preoccupied,"  said 
Mary,  dryly." 

"Possibly.  But  the  advent  of  visitors  was  not  an  agree- 
able surprise.  The  quiet  of  my  cousin's  dim  old  house, 
with  its  overhanging  cliff  and  shadowy  trees,  was  delight- 
ful. Put  in  a  party  of  half  a  dozen  fashionable  men  and 
women,  and  —  pshaw!  it  is  just  like  any  other  house." 

"  Lucy,  you  will  lose  the  rings  from  your  fingers,  trailing 
them  in  the  water  so." 

"  I  wear  but  this  one,  Mary,  and  it  fits  closely ;  but  I 
should  be  loath  to  lose  it." 

"  Why  has  it  so  great  a  value  ?     Is  it  a  gage  ff amour? " 


202  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind.  Look  at  the  legend ; "  and,  draw- 
ing off  the  ring,  she  laughingly  laid  it  in  Mary's  hand. 

" '  E.  L.  to  her  friend.  Dec.  12, 185-,'  "  read  Mary,  aloud. 
"  What  do  E.  and  L.  stand  for,  my  dear  ?  " 

"The  initials  of  a  friend  of  mine,  whom  I  hope  you  will 
some  day  know." 

"  Who  is  she  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Henry  Lovell,  of  New  York." 

"  I  never  heard  of  her  before." 

"No.  I  knew  her  first  at  Havana,  and  afterwards  in 
Germany.  We  were  at  the  same  hotel,  and  she  was  very 
kind  to  grandpa  during  a  short  illness.  When  I  first  met 
hei1,  she  had  just  lost  her  only  child,  a  very  beautiful  daugh- 
ter. There  were,  I  suspect,  some  peculiarly  painful  cir- 
cumstances connected  with  her  death,  though  I  do  not 
know  what ;  and,  indeed,  my  impression  comes  mainly  from 
surmise.  She  is  the  saddest  person  that  I  ever  knew.  She 
seldom  mentions  her  daughter,  but  broods  over  her  loss 
continually." 

"  Is  she  still  in  Europe  ?  " 

"  She  was  when  I  last  heard  from  her.  —  Mr.  Stafford, 
will  you  assist  me  ?  "  Lucy  added,  turning  suddenly  to  that 
gentleman,  and  holding  up  her  line,  which,  in  her  neglect, 
had  become  entangled  with  his  own. 

He  was  sitting  with  his  elbow  leaning  on  the  side  of  the 
boat,  and,  in  a  sort  of  nervous,  impatient  way,  was  whip- 
ping the  water  with  a  willow  bough.  Lucy  scarcely  no- 
ticed at  the  time,  though  she  remembered  afterwards,  that 
his  face  was  darkened  by  a  heavy  frown,  and  a-  stern, 
rather  defiant  expression  showed  itself  in  the  firmly-drawn 
lines  of  his  mouth.  So  absorbed  was  he  in  his  own  reflec- 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  263 

tions  that  he  did  not  hear  Lucy's  request ;  and  she  was 
obliged  to  repeat  it  before  she  caught  his  attention. 

The  boat  was  now  got  under  way,  and,  with  a  light 
wind,  they  went  smoothly  down  the  pond,  past  the  still, 
green  shores,  and  round  a  little  headland  to  a  cove,  where 
they  came  to  anchor  under  some  steep,  shelving  rocks. 
The  Juliana  was  soon  emptied  of  her  passengers  and 
cargo,  and  energetic  preparations  were  made  for  dinner. 
A  little  way  from  the  landing  rose  a  large  gray  rock,  its 
perpendicular  sides  washed  by  the  water,  and  its  flat,  even 
surface  justifying  its  appellation  of  "  Table  Rock."  This 
was  the  immemorial  dining-place  of  all  fishing  parties  on 
the  pond ;  and  here  their  repast  was  to  be  spread. 

Fires  were  lighted  on  the  shore,  and  the  freshly-caught 
fish  soon  sent  up  an  appetizing  savor.  At  the  end  of  half 
an  hour,  Captain  Fraser,  using  his  hand  as  a  speaking 
trumpet,  summoned  the  stragglers  with  a  call  that  was 
taken  up  in  long  echoes  by  all  the  surrounding  hill-sides. 
A  day  on  the  water  is  a  good  sharpener  of  the  appetite ; 
and  nobody  was  at  all  tardy  in  answering  to  the  call. 
Mrs.  Fraser,  being  the  oldest  lady  present,  was  assigned 
the  best  seat,  —  a  Hingham  bucket  turned  upside  down, 
—  and  the  others  bestowed  themselves  on  various  stones 
and  boxes,  without  much  regard  to  the  graceful  or  the  pic- 
turesque. 

Gypsy  dinners,  when  the  party  is  at  all  a  desirable  one, 
are  apt  to  be  very  pleasant,  but  they  are  also  very  much 
alike ;  and  I  cannot  stop  to  describe  this  one.  It  was  con- 
siderably prolonged,  but  it  was  over  at  last,  and  the  com- 
pany scattered  in  various  directions  to  seek  such  amuse- 
ment as  they  liked.  Hannah  and  Lucy  wandered  away 


264  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

together  up  the  steep,  rocky  hill.  They  found  a  few  wild 
flowers,  but  presently  grew  tired  of  picking  them,  and  sat 
down  in  a  little  cleft  among  the  rocks.  It  was  a  pleasant 
nook,  overhung  with  wild  roses  and  tangled  vines,  and 
within  sound  of  the  mingled  voices  that  came  up  to  them 
from  the  shore.  The  captain's  breezy  tones  rose  conspic- 
uous among  all.  Lucy  listened  for  the  sound  of  his  voice, 
and  an  expression  of  deep  tenderness  softened  her  beau- 
tiful face. 

"Dear  grandfather,"  she  exclaimed,  "how  he  is  enjoy- 
ing this  day !  As  much  a  boy  as  the  youngest  of  them. 
O,  Hannah,"  she  continued,  in  a  low  voice,  "I  can  never 
tell  you  how  much  that  old  man's  love  was  to  me,  in  that 
time,  long  ago,  when  —  when  I  was  not  so  happy  as  I  am 
now.  I  shall  never  forget  that  voyage  to  Cuba  —  those 
long  nights  passed  upon  the  deck  of  the  vessel,  clasped  in 
his  arms,  and  watching  the  still  heavens,  while  silently  our 
hearts  seemed  to  hold  communion.  He  was  so  kind  —  so 
tender !  Even  then,  while  the  deepest  sorrow  of  his  life 
was  fresh  upon  him,  he  had  no  chiding  for  the  selfish,  way- 
ward child,  who  forgot  all  but  her  own  light  griefs.  It 
was  his  patient  smile  that  first  taught  me  the  lesson  of  self- 
forgetfulness." 

"  You  were  always  thoughtful  of  others,  Lucy." 
"  When  too  happy  to  think  of  myself,  perhaps  I  was ; 
b«t  then  I  was  a  different  creature.  That  was  a  hard  time 
to  bear,  Hannah ;  but  I  have  come  to  look  upon  it  as  the 
most  fortunate  of  my  life.  —  Some  one  is  coming,"  she  add- 
ed hastily,  sweeping  away  a  tear  that  had  stolen  to  her 
cheek,  and  affecting  to  busy  herself  with  the  cluster  of  late 
wild  roses  she  had  found  lingering  in  the  rocks  above. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  "  265 

The  next  moment  Stafford  appeared  round  a  projecting 
rock  near  by.  At  the  first  glance  he  saw  by  the  misty 
softness  in  Hannah's  eyes,  and  the  slight  quiver  of  Lucy's 
lip,  that  he  had  interrupted  a  conversation  of  more  than 
common  interest. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  he  said ;  "  but  Mrs.  Fanshaw  sent  me 
to  find  Miss  Page." 

Hannah  rose  and  moved  away,  and  Stafford  was  also 
about  to  withdraw,  when  Lucy,  looking  up  from  her  flow- 
ers, motioned  him  to  the  seat  her  cousin  had  just  left,  say- 
ing, with  a  smile  that  was  very  sweet,  albeit  a  little  forced 
and  faint,  — 

"  It  is  scarcely  fair  to  take  Hannah  away,  and  refuse  to 
stay  yourself.  See,  I  will  give  you  this  as  a  bribe." 

"  Thank  you ;  but  I  waited  only  for  permission  to  re- 
main," he  answered,  as  he  took  the  rose  she  offered.  There 
was  something  in  the  low  tone  of  the  reply  that  made 
Lucy  half  regret  the  flattering  invitation  she  had  given. 
Perhaps  he  detected  the  feeling,  for  the  next  instant  he 
spoke  in  a  tone  which,  though  equally  low,  seemed  softened 
only  by  respect  for  her  apparent  mood. 

"  To  how  light  a  touch  will  our  deepest  buried  memo- 
ries sometimes  vibrate !  At  sight  of  these  late-fading 
roses  I  go  back  step  by  step  through  the  years,  and  see  a 
boy  asleep  under  a  hedge,  with  a  cluster  of  fresh-blown 
wild  roses  clasped  in  his  unconscious  hand.  To  gain  them 
he  had  braved  fatigue  and  danger,  as  well  as  anger  and 
punishment  by  venturing  on  forbidden  ground.  The  gar- 
dens of  his  home  were  bright  with  a  varied  profusion  of 
roses ;  but  his  eyes  coveted  the  forbidden  flowers  —  for- 
bidden because  the  cliff  where  they  grew  was  dangerous. 


266  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

At  last  he  possessed  them;  and  I  do  not  remember  that 
he  enjoyed  them  the  less  for  the  thought  of  the  punish- 
ment that  was  to  follow  his  disobedience.  Poor  boy! 
That  act  of  wilful  rebellion  against  established  law  and 
authority  has  had  many  a  parallel  in  his  life." 

"  Perhaps  the  parallels  would  have  been  fewer  if  the 
punishment  had  been  heavier,"  answered  Lucy,  mischiev- 
ously. 

"Possibly.  And  yet  I  hardly  know.  When  I  see  some 
wild  and  turbulent  child  subdued  by  the  sweet  voice  of  a 
mother,  I  know  what  influence  was  wanting  to  my  own  life. 
Had  my  beautiful  motjier  lived,  I  think  her  son  might  have 
been  more  worthy  of  her.  But  look!  O,  inauspicious  omen! 
The  flower  you  gave  me  has  scattered  its  petals  in  my 
hand.  Must  I  keep  this  poor  reminder  of  beauty  and  fra- 
grance wasted,  or  may  I  rely  on  your  bounty  to  replace  it  ?  " 

His  manner  had  changed  from  quiet  earnestness  to  a 
tone  of  half-serious,  half-playful  gallantry ;  and  Lucy  an- 
swered, with  a  shake  of  the  head,  and  something  of  her 
old  gay  perversity,  — 

"  No ;  it  cannot  be.  Mine,  too,  have  fallen,  except  these 
two  buds,  which  I  shall  carry  home.  They  will  blossom  in 
water,  and  I  shall  want  them  for  my  hair.  But  do  you 
see,  Mr.  Stafford,  how  these  thin  clouds  are  breaking  along 
the  west?  We  shall  have  fine  moonlight  for  our  drive 
home.  Ah !  already  the  sun  is  bursting  through.  See 
what  a  flood  of  splendor  streams  over  the  water  below  us." 

Like  molten  gold  the  pond  now  stretched  away  before 
them,  its  waves  rippling  with  low  murmurs  at  their  feet. 
The  wind  lifted  Lucy's  long  curls,  and  stirred  the  wild 
vines  that  drooped  above  her  head.  She  had  risen  from 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  267 

her  seat,  and  stood  looking  down  on  the  brightening  ex- 
panse of  water,  quite  forgetful,  for  the  moment,  of  her  com- 
panion, whose  admiring  glance  was  fixed  upon  her  ani- 
mated face.  He  stooped  to  gather  up  the  gloves,  veil,  and 
other  articles  which  had  fallen  from  her  lap  as  she  rose,  and 
at  that  moment  Mary  appeared  before  them. 

"  Come,  laggards,"  she  said  ;  "  everybody  is  ready  to  em- 
bark, and  the  captain  has  sent' me  to  you  with  a  peremp- 
tory summons." 

"  O,  Mary !  Must  we  go  so  soon  ?  This  is  the  most 
beautiful  hour  of  the  day." 

"  It  will  be  a  beautiful  hour  of  the  night  if  we  do  not 
go  soon." 

"  It  will  be  charming  to  go  home  by  moonlight." 

"  But  not  so  charming  to  arrive  at  midnight.  Think  of 
my  motherless  child  at  home  ! " 

"  I  have  no  more  to  say,  Mary.  You  always  crush  me 
with  that  boy  of  yours.  We  must  go,  Mr.  Stafford.  Thank 
you  for  restoring  my  property.  I  am  apt  to  leave  such 
tokens  of  myself  scattered  about." 

They  walked  on  somewhat  quickly  towards  the  shore. 
They  had  gone  but  a  few  yards  when  Lucy  stopped,  and 
seemed  searching  for  something.  She  shook  her  dress, 
examined  the  articles  she  held  in  her  hand,  hesitated,  and 
then  said,  — 

"  I  must  go  back ;  I  have  lost  my  handkerchief." 

"  O,  Lucy,  do  not  stop  for  a  handkerchief.  See,  they 
are  all  in  the  boat,  and  are  calling  us." 

"  I  must,  Mary.  It  is  that  one  I  was  showing  you  last 
night ;  and  it  was  a  gift  from  Mr.  Lester.  I  should  not 
like  to  lose  it." 


268  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

"  We  will  go  back,  then,  of  course  ;  but  you  were  a  fool- 
ish child  to  bring  it  on  an  excursion  like  this." 

"  I  know  that ;  but  I  caught  it  up  hastily  this  morning, 
without  observing  what  I  took." 

Stafford  and  Mary  went  back  with  her,  and  together 
they  prosecuted  the  search  for  the  missing  handkerchief. 
It  was  in  vain,  however.  The  pretty  trifle  was  nowhere 
to  be  found ;  and  Lucy  was  obliged  at  last  to  resign  the 
hope  of  recovering  it,  and  to  beg  her  friends  to  give  them- 
selves no  further  trouble. 

"  You  must  have  lost  it  higher  up  the  hill,  Lucy." 

"  I  am  sure  I  had  it  while  I  sat  here  with  Hannah." 

"  Then  it  must  have  been  blown  away." 

"  I  dare  say  it  was.  But  we  will  waste  no  more  time. 
Come." 

As  they  went  swiftly  down  the  hill,  Lucy  looked  back, 
and  said  to  Stafford,  who  was  assisting  Mary,  — 

"  You  compared  my  handkerchief  to  poor  Desdemona's. 
Do  you  think  I  shall  get  smothered  for  my  carelessness  ?  " 

"  You  can  best  judge  whether  your  friend  is  enough  like 
Othello  to  make  such  a  dismal  fate  probable." 

"The  resemblance  is  not  great  —  bless  his  kind  gray 
head !  But  how  impatient  my  grandfather  is  growing ! 
I  must  hasten  on  and  appease  him." 

The  whole  party  were  soon  embarked.  Lucy  appeared 
to  have  been  quite  successful  in  appeasing  the  wrath  of  the 
impatient  captain.  He  was  in  a  very  mild  and  placable 
frame  of  mind ;  and  the  two  sat  together  in  the  stern  of 
the  boat,  the  young  girl  leaning  lightly  against  the  old 
man's  shoulder.  They  glided  on  over  the  smooth  water, 
the  sunset  brightness  fading  from  the  shores,  and  the  Ta- 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  269 

ble  Rock  growing  more  and  more  indistinct  as  it  receded 
behind  them. 

Lucy  remained  quite  silent  for  a  time ;  but  at  length  she 
broke  into  a  low,  monotonous  Spanish  song.  It  was  one 
which  she  had  caught  from  the  muleteers  of  the  mountains 
during  her  sojourn  with  the  Lesters.  The  words  were 
simple  and  mournful,  and  the  air  wild  and  plaintive  iu 
the  extreme.  Lucy  had  often  heard  its  melancholy  refrain 
coming  down  some  mountain  defile,  as  one  by  one  the 
train  of  mules  crept  round  a  point  in  the  high,  winding 
path ;  and  she  loved  the  song  for  its  association  with  scenes 
among  which  she  had  enjoyed  so  much.  She  had  sung 
two  stanzas,  and  was  beginning  the  third,  when  a  full,  mel- 
low tenor  glided  into  the  strain.  Lucy  turned  to  look  at 
the  singer.  It  was  Stafford.  Clear,  sweet,  and  liquid,  the 
united  voices  blended  in  the  most  perfect  accord.  As  the 
song  continued,  there  seemed  to  have  stolen  into  it  with 
the  added  voice  a  subtle  thread  of  meaning,  to  which 
Lucy's  unconsciously  vibrated.  The  languid  entreaty  of 
the  tenor  awoke  an  answering  chord  of  tenderness,  of  which 
probably  her  ear  was  unaware.  With  eyes  fixed  dreamily 
on  the  lessening  shore  they  had  left,  and  her  thoughts  wan- 
dering far  away,  she  sat  motionless,  while  the  song  floated 
over  the  still  lake  —  a  song  which  for  centuries  has  been 
known  to  the  wild  sierras,  now  waking  for  the  first  time, 
doubtless,  the  softened  echoes  of  that  New  England 
forest. 

When  the  last  note  died  trembling  away  into  silence, 
Lucy  raised  her  head  suddenly  and  looked  at  Stafford. 
He  was  leaning  against  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  was  look- 
ing at  her,  though,  to  judge  from  the  absent  expression  of 


270  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

his  eyes,  not  thinking  of  her.  She  felt  like  one  just  aroused 
from  a  pleasant,  indistinct  dream,  and  languidly  drooped 
her  head  once  more  on  the  strong,  kind  shoulder  of  her 
grandfather. 

A  substantial  supper  awaited  the  party  on  their  arrival 
at  Ephraim  Green's ;  and  as  soon  as  it  was  despatched  the 
horses  were  brought  up.  The  ladies  assumed  the  warm 
shawls  they  had  provided  for  the  evening  drive,  and  re- 
ported themselves  "  all  ready "  on  the  green  before  the 
door.  Lucy  was  the  last. 

"Where  are  mother  and  Mary?"  she  asked,  not  seeing 
either  of  them. 

"  Gone,"  said  Hannah. 

"  How,  pray ;  and  why  ?  " 

"  O,  Mary  was  getting  fidgety  about  Elliot ;  so  she  and 
Miles  took  Heman's  wagon,  as  they  could  drive  faster  with 
Black  Bess  than  in  the  carryall.  Grandfather  and  your 
mother  went  with  them  in  Mr.  Stafford's  carriage.  He  in- 
sisted on  their  taking  it,  it  is  so  much  easier  for  aunt  Susan, 
you  know." 

Lucy  made  no  answer,  and  the  party  proceeded  to  take 
their  places.  Stafford  handed  Lucy  to  the  front  seat  of  the 
carryall,  and  turning  to  Heman,  who  approached  at  the 
moment,  said,  "With  your  permission,  I  should  like  to 
drive  this  team." 

"  All  right,"  answered  Heman,  taking  his  place  on  the 
middle  seat.  "  I  can  make  myself  very  useful  here  in  hold- 
ing Fanny  in." 

Stafford  took  the  reins  from  the  boy  who  held  them,  and 
sprang  to  Lucy's  side.  The  freshened  horses  obeyed  his 
signal,  and  they  were  soon  rolling  along  the  smooth  road 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  271 

towards  Hillsboro'.  Fanny  Miller  and  Heman  kept  up  a 
lively  interchange  of  good-humored  railleries.  Hannah,  a 
little  tired  with  the  unusual  nature  of  the  day's  exertions, 
leaned  back  in  her  corner  of  the  carriage,  silent  arid  un- 
companionable. Lucy,  too,  seemed  little  disposed  to  talk ; 
but,  nestled  in  her  warm  shawl,  she  sat  watching  the  flying 
objects  along  the  roadside,  and  listening  to  the  music  of 
the  low  voice  that  murmured  in  her  ear. 

As  for  Stafford,  he  sat  by  her  side  with  a  demeanor  out- 
wardly calm,  and  only  a  shade  more  serious  and  thoughtful 
than  usual ;  but  his  eye  seldom  wandered  from  the  lovely 
face  which  the  tender  moonlight  revealed  to  him  ;  and  the 
thrill  of  that  delicious  song,  across  whose  slender  thread  of 
melody  her  soul  had  for  one  moment  answered  his,  was  yet 
vibrating  in  his  memory.  In  this  hour  of  exquisite  happi- 
ness every  harassing  doubt  was  forgotten.  Every  mistake 
of  the  past,  every  cloud  in  the  future,  vanished  before  the 
enchanting  present. 

Rapidly  the  long  miles  were  accomplished ;  and  before 
any  of  the  party  had  thought  of  it,  Carlo's  loud  bark- 
ing announced  their  approach  to  home.  As  the  carryall 
drew  up  before  the  door,  Stafford  threw  down  the  reins ; 
but  before  he  could  alight,  Mr.  Fraser,  who  was  waiting  for 
them,  had  lifted  his  daughter  from  the  carnage. 

While  his  horse,  which  the  captain  had  driven,  was  being 
made  ready,  Stafford  stood  in  the  doorway  with  Lucy  and 
Miles,  and  the  subject  of  the  projected  ride  was  again 
brought  up.  Mr.  Gore  had  expressed  his  pleasure  that 
Miss  Fraser  should  wish  to  ride  his  horse,  and  it  was  en- 
tirely at  her  disposal.  Stafford  suggested  the  next  day  for 
their  first  trial ;  but  Lucy  objected,  —  she  should  be  too 


272  HILLSBORO*    FARMS. 

tired,  —  and  at  length  fixed  the  day  after,  mentioning  an 
hour  towards  evening,  when  it  would  be  cool.  It  was  so 
arranged ;  and  the  gentleman  presently  took  his  leave, 
carrying  with  him  the  light  of  a  most  enchanting  smile  as 
he  went. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  273 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

BUKKE  came  next  day  to  hear  about  the  fishing-party, 
express  his  regrets,  and  propose  a  pleasant  plan  of  his  own. 
He  had  heard  Miss  Fraser  express  a  desire  to  visit  "  Indian 
Head,"  a  famous  locality  in  a  neighboring  town,  having  his- 
torical associations  of  much  interest.  It  lay  at  a  point 
somewhat  nearer  to  Colchester  than  to  Hillsboro',  though 
in  a  different  direction.  Burke's  proposition  was,  that  the 
Fraser  party,  including  Mary  and  Miles,  should  drive  over 
next  day  to  the  place  in  question,  where  he  himself  would 
meet  them ;  and  after  examining  at  their  leisure  the  vari- 
ous points  of  interest,  they  should  all  return  with  him  to 
his  house  in  Colchester,  and  dine. 

Mary  caught  eagerly  at  this  plan ;  but  Lucy,  remember- 
ing her  engagement  with  Stafford,  expressed  a  fear  that 
they  might  not  return  in  season  for  her  to  keep  it. 

"You  could  easily  postpone  your  ride  for  one  day, 
Lucy.  I  dare  say  it  would  make  no  difference  to  Mr.  Staf- 
ford." 

"  I  have  already  postponed  it  once  for  my  own  conven- 
ience ;  I  should  not  like  to  do  so  again." 

"  Well,  then,  perhaps  we  could  go  to  Indian  Head  a  day 
later,  if  Mr.  Burke  does  riot  object." 

"  I  object,  if  Burke  does  not,"  interrupted  Miles ;  "  for 
that  throws  me  out.  You  forget  that  to-morrow  is  my  last 
18 


274  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

day  here.     Why  not  double  up  the  two  arrangements  into 
one  ?  " 

"Why  not,  indeed?"  replied  Burke;  and  he  added, 
with  what  Miles  afterwards  declared  to  be  a  fearful  sacri- 
fice of  truth  to  politeness,  "  If  you  can  induce  Mr.  Stafford 
to  make  one  of  our  party,  it  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to 
see  him  at  my  house." 

"Even  then,  Lucy,  you  will  have  to  give  up  the  ride. 
So  many  miles  on  horseback  would  hardly  be  a  pleasure." 

"My  dear,  you  have  no  idea  what  a  horsewoman  I  am." 

"  I  know  that  you  have  travelled  three  years  with  Cap- 
tain Fraser,  to  whom  a  horse  is  only  less  beautiful  than  a 
ship." 

"  That  is  true ;  and  often,  for  weeks,  we  actually  lived 
in  the  saddle.  He  will  tell  you  that  I  am  not  easily  fa- 
tigued." 

After  a  good  deal  more  discussion,  it  was  finally  settled 
in  accordance  with  Miles's  suggestion.  Lucy  agreed  to 
acquaint  Stafford  with  the  change  of  programme,  which 
would  oblige  him  to  report  himself  at  an  earlier  hour  than 
that  first  fixed  upon ;  and  Burke  took  his  leave,  considera- 
bly disappointed  at  the  unexpected  shape  his  plan  had  as- 
sumed, but  more  in  love  than  ever. 

Mr.  Stafford  was  loitering  with  Miss  Sandoval  in  the 
locust  walk  at  Mr.  Gore's  when  Lucy's  note  was  brought 
to  him.  He  was  in  the  act  of  clasping  upon  the  beautiful 
arm  of  his  companion  a  bracelet  which  had  been  carelessly 
dropped,  when  a  servant  approached  and  offered  the  pretty 
white  messenger.  Miss  Sandoval  took  it  in  her  disengaged 
hand,  and,  glancing  at  the  superscription  in  Lucy's  clear, 
delicate  characters,  said,  gayly,  still  keeping  possession  of 
the  note, — 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  275 

"  A  lady's  band  !  Ah,  Mr.  Stafford,  you  must  positively 
tell  me  from  whom  this  comes  before  I  give  it  to  you." 

"I  am  as  ignorant  as  yourself,  Miss  Sandoval,  not  having 
seen  it." 

"  Doubtless  you  could  make  a  shrewd  guess." 

'.'  How  should  I,  when  I  don't  know  a  lady  in  Edge- 
hill?" 

"Is  that  so?" 

"  Really  so  —  this  was  a  wilderness  until  you  came." 

"  I  am  a  little  doubtful  of  you.  This  middle  initial  looks 
like  familiar  acquaintance.  But  I  take  compassion  on  your 
impatience.  Now  tell  me  where  you  went  yesterday." 

"  Dare  I  believe  that  you  missed  me  ?  "  he  answered,  as 
he  received  the  note.  But,  instead  of  opening  it,  he  de- 
1  posited  it  in  the  breast  pocket  of  his  coat. 

When  Miss  Sandoval,  a  handsome  and  accomplished 
woman  of  six  or  seven  and  twenty,  had  first  arrived  in 
Edgehill,  she  experienced  a  feeling  of  agreeable  disappoint- 
ment. She  had  come  to  please  her  parents,  who  were  old 
and  valued  friends  of  Mr.  Gore ;  but  she  anticipated  a 
dull  time.  To  find  domesticated  there  a  man  so  agreeable 
as  Mr.  Stafford,  and  one  of  whom  she  had  heard  enough  to 
be  aware  that  he  was  also  in  a  high  degree  eligible  as  a 
parti,  was  a  very  pleasant  surprise ;  and  she  mentally  con- 
gratulated herself  on  having  a  cloar  field,  and  the  game  all 
to  herself.  Miss  Sandoval  was  not,  perhaps,  more  calcu- 
lating than  the  majority  of  her  sex ;  but  still,  after  eight 
years  of  brilliant  bellehood,  she  saw  the  propriety  of  estab- 
lishing- a  position  different  from  the  very  enviable  one  she 
had  so  long  held ;  and  it  certainly  did  occur  to  her,  as,  on 
the  evening  of  her  first  arrival,  she  politely  listened  to  Mr. 


276  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

Gore  while  he  spoke  of  his  guest  and  relative,  that  this  un- 
desired  visit  might  prove  a  providence  after  all. 

The  evening  was  warm,  almost  oppressively  so.  The 
captain  had  moved  his  arm-chair  out  under  the  trees,  and 
sat  there  enjoying  his  evening  cigar.  Lucy  came  -and 
stood  beside  him,  leaning  on  his  shoulder.  The  sky  all 
day  had  been  brilliantly  clear ;  but  now  there  was  a  soft 
indistinctness  in  the  atmosphere,  an  almost  impalpable 
haze  —  the  mere  ghost  of  a  haze,  Lucy  said.  A  breathless 
hush  rested  upon  nature,  and,  as  Lucy  stood  silently  gazing, 
there  floated  to  her  ear,  from  far  down  the  valley,  the  faint 
sound  of  an  evening  bell.  She  knew  it  to  be  swinging  in 
the  white  belfry  of  the  little  church  at  the  Centre. 

"Didn't  I  hear  you  and  Miles  talking  of  some  excursion 
for  to-morrow  ?  "  asked  her  grandfather. 

"  We  have  one  in  prospect." 

"  You  may  as  well  give  it  up.  It  will  rain  before  sun- 
rise." 

"  Why,  grandpa !  there  is  not  a  cloud  to  be  seen." 

"Not  yet,  it  is  true;  but  this  pretty  haze  you  admire  so 
much  will  roll  itself  into  clouds  soon  enough.  The  glass 
has  been  low  all  day ;  and  I  can  hear  very  plainly  the  nine 
o'clock  bell  at  the  Centre,  showing  that  what  wind  there  is 
must  be  south-east."  • 

"Do  you  think  yourself  an  infallible  prophet,  Captain 
Fraser?" 

"You  will  find  I  am  a  true  one  this  time.  There  —  that 
cigar  has  gone  out,  and  I  won't  light  another.  Kiss  me 
good  night,  child,  and  I'll  go  to  bed." 

The  captain   was  right.     The  first  sound  that  saluted 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  277 

Lucy's  cars,  on  awaking  next  morning,  was  the  continuous 
patter  of  the  rain-drops  on  the  leaves  without.  She  rose 
and  went  to  the  window,  where  an  unpromising  prospect 
was  revealed.  The  sky  dripped  rain  incessantly,  and  thick 
mist  hid  even  the  near  hills.  Lucy  surveyed  the  wet  land- 
scape with  rather  a  rueful  expression,  and  proceeded  about 
her  dressing  with  a  decided  twinge  of  disappointment. 
She  had  anticipated  the  excursion  very  pleasantly ;  the 
arrangements  were  quite  to  her  mind,  and  she  was  a  little 
fearful  that,  if  once  broken  up,  they  might  not  be  made  so 
perfectly  again.  However,  she  quickly  banished  the  slight 
cloud  from  her  face,  put  on  her  most  becoming  morning 
dress,  and  went  down  to  prepare  her  grandfather's  invaria- 
ble cup  of  chocolate,  which  could  never  be  made  just  right 
by  any  hands  but  hers. 

A  wet  day  in  a  lively  country  house,  with  newspapers, 
books,  music,  and  plenty  of  people,  does  not  drag  so  wea- 
rily after  all.  This  one  passed  quickly,  and  evening  came 
on,  but  still  with  no  appearance  of  better  weather.  After 
the  lamps  were  lighted,  but  before  the  family  were  fairly 
settled  to  their  evening  occupations,  Miles  proposed  to 
Lucy  a  game  of  shuttlecock. 

"  Dear  Miles !  I  haven't  touched  a  battledoor  for  years, 
—  not  since  that  first  summer  you  were  here  with  Mary." 

"  Neither  have  I ;  but  I  saw  your  old  battledoors  this 
morning,  when  we  were  rummaging  in  the  attic.  Shall  I 
bring  them  ?  " 

"Where  can  we  play?" 

"In  the  upper  hall — just  the  place  —  wide  and  high." 
And  up  stairs  he  sprang  after  the  battledoors. 

The  game  began.     Mary,  leading   Elliot,  came  up  to 


278  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

watch  the  players.  Lucy  entered  into  the  sport  with  girl- 
ish gayety,  and  the  contest  was  growing  very  spirited, 
when  the  tramp  of  a  horse's  feet  was  heard,  and  presently 
a  knock  from  the  great  brass  knocker  on  the  front  door 
resounded  through  the  house. 

"There!"  cried  Miles,  laughing.  "That  is  just  my  luck. 
My  very  last  evening  at  Hillsboro',  and  I  thought,  thanks 
to  the  rain,  I  should  have  you  to  myself;  but  here  comes 
some  one  of  your  many  swains  to  spoil  our  last  delicious 
tete-a-tete.  Let  us  see  who  it  is,"  he  added,  looking  down 
over  the  banisters.  "  By  my  soul,  it  is  Stafford ! " 

Lucy's  eye  followed  that  of  her  companion,  and  saw 
Stafford  just  giving  his  overcoat  to  Dolly.  The  parlor  was 
lighted,  but  empty,  for  Mrs.  Fraser  had  had  a  fire  made  in 
the  dining-room,  and  her  husband  and  the  captain  were 
established  before  its  cheerful  blaze.  Battledoor  in  hand, 
Lucy  went  down  the  stairs  to  greet  the  guest,  who,  on 
learning  the  way  in  which  they  were  amusing  themselves, 
instantly  challenged  her  to  a  renewal  of  the  game.  She 
consented,  and  they  returned  together  to  the  upper  hall. 

At  a  small  table,  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  hall,  Mary 
sat  reading  a  newspaper,  with  Elliot  playing  at  her  feet. 
She  looked  up,  as  they  approached,  to  give  the  visitor  a 
smiling  welcome,  and  then  resumed  her  paper.  Miles  took 
himself  off  to  the  room  where  the  elders  of  the  family  were 
assembled. 

The  game  grew  animated.  Lucy  enjoyed  it,  and  played 
with  the  graceful  abandon  of  a  child.  Her  round,  lithe 
figure  was  thrown  into  postures  of  free,  unconscious  grace, 
and  the  quick  exercise  gave  a  warm  flush  to  her  cheeks. 
The  gown  she  wore,  of  rich,  dark-purple  silk,  heightened 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  279 

the  effect  of  her  brilliant  complexion.  Her  white  arms, 
from  which  the  large  sleeves  occasionally  fell  back,  were 
without  ornament ;  but  nestled  in  her  hair  was  the  lovely 
wild  rose  she  had  brought  a  bud  from  Long  Pond. 

They  played  a  long  time,  for  Lucy  was  not  disposed 
easily  to  own  herself  beaten.  She  was  strong  and  deep- 
breathed  too,  this  unconventional  young  lady,  and  wholly 
unacquainted  with  faintings  and  palpitations.  But  she 
soon  found  that  Stafford,  to  whom  fatigue  was  almost  a 
thing  unknown,  was  a  very  different  adversary  from  Miles, 
and  in  the  end  she  was  compelled  to  throw  down  the  bat- 
tledoor  and  own  herself  vanquished. 

"Rest  here,"  said  Stafford,  leading  her  to  the  seat  ar- 
ranged in  the  one  large  window  that  lighted  the  upper 
hall.  Lucy  very  willingly  sank  down  upon  the  cushions, 
while  Stafford  walked  across,  to  where  Mary  was  sitting, 
exchanged  a  few  words  with  her,  tossed  little  Elliot,  laugh- 
ing and  crowing,  into  the  air,  and  presently  returned  to 
the  window. 

"  I  received  your  note,  Miss  Fraser ;  and  my  reason  for 
not  reporting  myself  at  the  hour  you  appointed  is,  of 
course,  obvious.  I  hope  this  rain  is  not  finally  to  prevent 
the  excursion." 

"  I  hope  not,  also,  though  we  have  been  obliged  to  re- 
write our  programme  since  we  saw  you."  And  she  ac- 
quainted him  with  Mr.  Burke's  proposition. 

"  And  has  this  rain  spoiled  so  very  perfect  a  plan  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  so.  Mr.  Burke  has  kindly 
written  to  say  that  the  invitation  holds  for  the  first  fine 
day.  Miles  still  insists  that  he  must  leave  us  to-morrow ; 
but  we  are  strongly  urging  him  to  give  us  another  day, 


280  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

and  I  think  I  see  signs  of  yielding  in  him.  If  you  can  tell 
us  now  what  the  weather  promises  to  be  — " 

"  No  signs  of  clearing  were  visible  when  I  came  in.  Lis- 
ten, how  it  pours ! " 

"  Let  us  take  a  look  at  it,"  said  Lucy.  "  Will  you  open 
the  window  ?  There !  the  air  is  refreshing.  I  like  these 
summer  storms ;  the  sound  of  the  rain-drops  pattering  on 
the  trees  is  pleasant  music  to  me.  I  always  have  an  im- 
pulse to  rush  out  and  feel  them  on  my  head." 

"  But  are  you  quite  prudent  to  expose  yourself  to  this 
damp  wind,  after  such  brisk  exercise  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not ;  we  will  close  the  window  presently ;  but 
first,  do  you  see  —  here,  lean  this  way  —  far  up  on  the  hill- 
side, those  two  lights  that  with  their  sharp  rays  pierce  the 
darkness  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  see  them.     What  are  they  ?  " 

"Those  lights  have  burned  there  nightly  for  forty  years. 
Winter  and  summer,  through  storm  and  fair  weather, 
never  for  a  night  have  they  failed  to  shed  their  brightness 
across  the  valley.  Scores  of  times,  when  a  child,  have  I 
kept  my  mother  or  her  maids  waiting,  as  they  brought  me 
up  to  bed,  to  peer  from  this  window  at  old  Nancy's  lights; 
and  I  love  to  watch  them  now." 

"Who,  then,  is  old  Nancy?"  he  asked,  putting  down  the 
window ;  "  and  what  is  the  object  of  her  lights  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  the  story ;  it  has  always  seemed  a  touch- 
ing one  to  me.  Forty  y<3ars  ago  Nancy  Cline  was  a  pretty 
young  girl  of  twenty.  Being  pretty,  she  naturally  had 
lovers  —  at  least,  she  had  one.  I  have  forgotten  his  name, 
if  I  ever  knew  it ;  nor  can  I  tell  you  positively  what  he 
was  like.  It  is  fair  to  suppose,  however,  that  he  was  hand- 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  281 

some,  and  manly,  and  true,  for  Nancy  loved  him  with  a 
devotion  which,  after  the  lapse  of  all  these  years,  is  yet 
undiminished.  Are  you  listening  ?  " 

"With  interest." 

"  One  fatal  winter  night  there  raged  among  these  hills  a 
wild  storm  of  wind  and  snow.  It  was  fearfully  cold,  and 
the  fierce  wind  blew  the  snow  in  blinding  clouds,  heaping 
the  road  with  drifts.  In  the  midst  of  it  all,  Nancy's  lover 
set  out  to  visit  his  lady.  Confused  in  the  darkness,  with 
nothing  by  which  to  direct  his  steps,  he  lost  his  way,  and, 
wandering  blindly,  sank  down  chilled,  and  perished  in  the 
snow.  When  the  cold,  lifeless  body  was  brought  to  Nan- 
cy, the  shock  was  so  terrible  that  her  reason  gave  way. 
For  a  time,  I  have  been  told,  she  was  wild  and  raving ; 
but,  under  the  tender  care  of  her  friends,  the  character  of 
her  madness  changed.  She  became  quiet  and  gentle,  and 
has  remained  so  ever  since.  She  now  lives  with  a  brother, 
who  is  very  fond  of  her,  and  humors  all  her  whims,  of 
which  the  chief  one  is  to  keep  those  two  lights  always 
burning  in  the  night-time.  As  soon  as  the  first  shades  of 
evening  fall,  she  grows  restless  and  uneasy,  talks  to  herself 
of  some  one  wandering  in  the  valley  who  will  be  lost  if  she 
fails  to  light  her  lamps ;  and  in  the  care  of  trimming  and 
tending  them  she  grows  calm  again.  —  I  see  that  my  story 
has  interested  you,"  she  added,  turning  her  eyes  on  his, 
which  were  fixed  upon  the  dark  hill-side,  where  Nancy's 
lamps  were  burning  brightly. 

"  It  has,  indeed,"  he  answered.  "  But  I  am  thinking  of 
a  snow  storm  not  so  long  ago,  when  a  lamp,  placed  by  an- 
other hand  in  a  window,  saved  a  benighted  traveller  from 
a  fate  as  sad." 


282  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

His  voice,  earnest  and  a  little  husky,  thrilled  slightly 
the  heart  of  his  companion ;  but  she  was  not  disposed  to 
encourage  a  lapse  into  sentiment ;  so  she  answered,  smil- 
ing,— 

"  0,  not  so  sad !  for  no  poor  Nancy  waited  to  go  mad 
for  your  sake." 

"  Sadder  for  that  very  reason.". 

"  Unprecedented  selfishness !  If  you  stood  face  to  face 
with  death,  would  the  prospect  be  any  less  dreadful  for 
the  conviction  that  some  poor  heart  would  break  for  your 
loss?" 

"  I  cannot  imagine  so  improbable  a  case.  But  did  you 
not  promise  me  that  wild  rose  when  you  should  have  worn 
it  in  your  hair  ?  " 

"  Never.     What  a  memory  is  yours ! " 

"  You  are  quite  sure  ?  " 

"Perfectly." 

"  But  you  will  give  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  had  not  intended  so  to  dispose  of  it." 

Now,  Stafford  had  begged  that  rose  once  before.  He 
attached  some  whimsical  significance  -to  it,  and  he  was 
resolved  that  Lucy  should  give  it  to  him ;  but  he  bided  his 
time.  Just  then  little  Elliot,  who  had  been  playing  about 
the  hall,  and  growing  wilder  as  the  hour  grew  later,  came 
running  to  Lucy,  and  flung  his  little  arms  upon  her  lap. 
She  stooped  to  caress  him,  and  the  child,  taking  one  of  her 
long  curls  in  his  pretty  hand,  laughed  as  he  drew  out  its 
shining  length.  Presently  his  attention  was  caught  by  the 
rose  in  her  braids,  and,  with  one  of  those  quick  impulses 
of  mischief  common  to  children,  he  snatched  the  flower, 
and  ran  away  to  his  mother.  Lucy  sprang  after  and  cap- 


IIILLSBORO'    FARMS.  283 

tared  him,  when  a  laughing  struggle  ensued.  Failing  to 
unclasp  the  pretty  pink  fingers  that  so  resolutely  held  the 
flower,  she  lifted  him  in  her  arms  and  returned  to  the  win- 
dow, alternately  pleading  and  bribing.  Stafford  stood  by 
laughing  at  her  unsuccessful  attempts  to  move  the  little 
inexorable. 

Mary  now  came  forward  to  claim  her  offending  child, 
declaring  that  his  bed-time  was  already  long  past.  The 
boy  demurred  at  first ;  but,  knowing  by  experience  that 
resistance  was  useless,  he  sought  to  prolong  the  ceremony 
of  leave-taking.  With  one  dimpled  arm  round  Lucy's 
neck,  he  made  mischievous  feints  of  kissing  her.  At  last 
he  put  his  lips  to  hers,  then  teased  to  kiss  her  on  her  eyes. 
His  mother  here  interposed ;  but,  to  gain  another  moment, 
still  clinging  fast  to  Lucy,  he  leaned  towards  Stafford,  and 
entreated  quite  irresistibly  for  a  good-night  kiss  from  him. 
The  gentleman  bent  his  handsome  head  to  the  child's  face, 
and  in  so  doing,  brought  his  cheek  so  near  to  Lucy's  that 
he  could  feel  her  soft  breath  warm  upon  it.  A  sudden 
strong  impulse  flamed  for  an  instant  in  his  eyes ;  the  next 
he  stood  erect,  though  with  a  deep  color  flushing  his  face, 
and  Lucy  was  giving  the  child  to  his  mother.  As  she  did 
so,  she  turned  to  Stafford  and  proposed  that  they  should 
go  down  to  the  parlor.  They  were  descending  the  stairs, 
Lucy  a  step  or  two  in  advance,  when  Elliot,  breaking  from, 
his  mother,  ran  towards  them,  and  threw  the  rose  over  the 
banisters.  They  both  looked  up,  and  Stafford  caught  the 
flower. 

"  May  I  keep  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  it  is  Elliot's  gift  now." 

He  felt  himself  baffled.  The  prize  was  in  his  hand,  yet 
he  had  lost  the  game. 


284  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

When,  an  hour  later,  Stafford  took  his  leave,  the  rain 
had  ceased,  and  the  clouds  were  breaking  overhead.  The 
wind  was  blowing  freshly  from  the  west,  and  the  next  day 
promised  to  be  fair.  After  turning  the  corner  into  the 
Edgehill  road,  he  could  for  some  distance  command  a 
view  of  the  window  where  were  the  two  lights,  the  bea- 
con fires  fed  by  the  undying  love  of  poor  Nancy  Cline. 
As  he  drove  slowly  along,  his  gaze  became  fixed  thought- 
fully upon  this  one  distinct  point  in  the  landscape.  Like 
most  men  of  vivid  imagination,  he  had  a  slight  tendency 
to  superstitious  feeling,  which  would  occasionally  assert 
itself  in  spite  of  reason  and  education.  Those  gleaming 
lamps,  piercing  far  down  through  the  gloom,  had  suddenly 
taken  a  deep  significance  to  him.  They  identified  them- 
selves, in  some  vague  way,  with  certain  doubtful  issues  in 
his  mind ;  and  he  found  encouragement  for  some  wild 
hopes  he  had  begun  to  cherish  in  the  thought  of  their 
steady,  unfailing  brightness. 

As  he  gazed,  it  seemed  to  him,  all  at  once,  that  the  rays 
grew  unsteady  and  flickering.  Suddenly  they  flared  up 
wildly,  and  the  next  instant  died  in  utter  darkness. 

Stafford  checked  his  horse  so  abruptly  as  almost  to 
throw  the  animal  upon  his  haunches,  and,  leaning  forward, 
tried  to  discern,  through  the  gloom,  the  lights  which,  a 
moment  before,  had  been  so  distinctly  visible.  Determined 
not  to  be  deceived,  he  turned  his  horse's  head,  and  drove 
back  some  rods  to  a  point  where  he  knew  they  had  been 
plainly  visible,  in  order  to  convince  himself  that  no  inter- 
vening object  hid  them  from  his  view.  But  all  was  dark- 
ness. The  lights  were  gone  out ! 

For  one  moment  the  conviction  struck  a  sort  of  chill 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  285 

through  his  heart,  as  if  he  saw  in  the  fact  some  omen  of 
evil.  The  next,  he  uttered  an  impatient  exclamation  at 
his  own  folly  in  giving  himself  so  much  trouble  because  a 
lamp  in  a  farm-house  window  was  extinguished ;  and, 
wheeling  his  horse  with  sharp,  firm  hand,  once  more  in 
the  direction  of  Edgehill,  he  drove  home  with  a  rapidity 
which  might  almost  leave  troublesome  thoughts  behind. 


286  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

LUCY  had  just  taken  her  place  at  the  breakfast-table 
next  morning,  when  Miles,  who  had  been  visiting  the  sta- 
bles, came  in  with  the  announcement  that  Stafford's  boy, 
Figaro,  had  arrived  with  the  horses. 

"It  was  a  good  idea,  sending  them  over  thus  early," 
Miles  added,  "  as  now  they  will  be  fresh  when  you  want 
them ;  and  it  is  a  good  stretch  to  Indian  Head.  Mr.  Gore's 
horse,  which  you  are  to  ride,  is  a  beautiful  chestnut,  black- 
maned,  small-eared,  limbed  like  a  ballet-dancer.  Stafford's 
horse  is  a  powerful  bay,  full  of  blood  and  speed.  That 
brown  imp,  Figaro,  says  his  master  brought  him  from  Eng- 
land. I  almost  wish  I  had  a  mount :  I  would  try  a  race 
with  you." 

"  Leaving  me  to  drive  myself  and  enjoy  my  own  society," 
said  Mary,  laughing.  "  I  hardly  know,"  she  added, "  whether 
to  be  most  jealous  of  Lucy  or  the  horse." 

"I  do  not  seriously  propose  to  desert  you  so  basely," 
Miles  replied.  "  But  is  not  Mrs.  Fraser  going  with  us  ?  " 

"  She  is  unable  to  leave  home  to-day.  I  am  to  matronize 
this  party." 

"And  Captain  Fraser?" 

"  Has  business  at  Kifilon,  not  postponable.  You  see  the 
squireless  condition  to  which  your  sister  would  have  been 
reduced  if  you  had  persisted  in  leaving  us  this  morning." 


HILLSBORO*   FARMS.  287 

"  I  begin  to  appreciate  my  own  consequence ;  and  I  ex- 
pect to  be  treated  to-day  with  the  most  distinguished  con- 
sideration. Does  anybody  know  the  road  to  this  Indian 
place?" 

Just  then  Dolly  announced  that  a  neighbor  wished  to 
see  Mrs.  Fraser.  Death  had  come  suddenly  into  a  house 
not  far  away,  and  some  office  of  neighborly  service  was 
wanted  of  the  Frasers.  Lucy,  too,  went  out  to  inquire  into 
the  particulars,  and  make  herself  of  use,  and  did  not  re- 
turn. 

Punctual  to  the  hour  appointed,  Mr.  Stafford  drove  to 
the  door.  The  saddled  horses  were  standing  ready,  and 
Miles  was  just  handing  his  sister  to  the  carriage  which 
had  been  provided  for  them.  Lucy  came  forth  arrayed 
in  the  close-fitting,  dark-blue  habit  which  so  well  became 
her,  and  the  pretty  black  hat,  with  long  feather  drooping 
to  her  shoulder.  She  was  in  high  spirits,  exhilarated  by 
the  fine  weather,  and  the  prospect  of  enjoying  her  favorite 
exercise.  I  think,  too,  that  the  young  lady  had  a  certain 
amount  of  pleasure  in  the  consciousness  that  she  appeared 
remarkably  well  on  horseback.  She  managed  her  horse 
with  perfect  fearlessness  and  skill,  and  rode  with  a  free, 
unstudied  grace,  as  far  removed  from  timidity  as  from 
jockeyish  boldness. 

It  was  one  of  those  delicious  days  which  follow  summer 
rain,  when  the  sky  takes  a  darker,  intenser  blue,  when  the 
fresh  wind  rolls  in  billows  over  the  standing  grain,  and 
troops  of  white,  sailing  clouds  chequer  the  landscape  with 
alternations  of  sunshine  and  shadow.  Stafford  and  Lucy 
had  finished  their  first  dashing  gallop,  in  which  they  had 
left  the  carriage  containing  their  companions  a  mile  or  two 


288  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

behind,  and  were  now  riding  slowly  through  a  dense  wood, 
where  the  freshness  of  yesterday's  rain  yet  lingered,  and 
the  air  was  fragrant  with  the  odor  of  rank-growing  ferns. 
Lucy,  who  had  been  silent  for  some  minutes,  looked  sud- 
denly up  at  her  companion,  and  said,  — 

"  Do  you  remember  the  story  I  told  you  last  night  of 
Nancy  Cline  and  her  lamps  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  To-day  there  is  a  sequel  to  the  tale." 

"  They  did  go  out,  then ! "  exclaimed  Stafford,  in  a  tone 
of  some  excitement. 

"  They  did,  indeed.     How  did  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  I  saw  them.  As  I  drove  home  from  your  house,  the 
direction  of  the  road  enabled  me  to  watch  the  lights  for 
some  distance.  I  was  gazing  very  intently  at  them,  — • 
for  some  strange'  interest  seemed  to  attract  my  eyes  to 
them,  —  when  I  observed  their  rays  flicker  and  grow  un- 
steady. Suddenly  they  shot  up  a  wild,  brilliant  light, 
and  in  an  instant  died  in  dai-kness.  Do  you  know  the 
reason  ?  " 

"Yes.  Another  light  than  theirs  went  out  just  then.  Old 
Nancy  died  last  night  with  the  flame  of  the  lamps  she  had 
tended  so  long." 

"  Tell  me  how  it  was." 

"She  died  suddenly,  while  sitting  with  the  family.  In 
the  confusion,  doors  and  windows  were  thrown  open,  and 
a  draught  of  air  extinguished  the  lamps.  It  was,  of  course, 
a  purely  accidental  coincidence,  but  none  the  less  fit  and 
touching." 

Lucy's  companion,  whose  face  was  turned  slightly  away 
from  her,  did  not  reply  immediately;  and  when  he  did,  it 


HILLSBORO     FARMS.  289 

was  with  a  question  which  seemed  to  have  little  rele- 
vancy. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  omens,  Miss  Fraser  ?  " 

"  In  some  omens,  certainly :  when  the  clouds  gather,  I 
look  for  rain." 

"  That  is  simply  one  of  the  signs  of  nature,  and  not  an 
omen.  But  did  you  never  on  some  trifling  chance  stake 
the  realization  of  a  hope,  the  success  of  an  endeavor,  and 
say  to  yourself,  if  it  falls  thus,  fortune  sits  with  me ;  or 
thus,  and  failure  is  mine  ?  " 

"  Very  possibly  I  may  have,  though  my  success  or  failure 
are  alike  forgotten  now.  Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Twice  within  the  week  the  fates  have  written  failure 
against  me  in  their  book.  I  await  the  third  trial." 

"  May  better  success  attend  you."  She  laughed  lightly 
as  she  said  it. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  that  ?  " 

The  sudden,  suppressed  vehemence  of  his  tone,  the  flash- 
ing, eager  look  that  leaped  out  of  his  eyes,  warned  Lucy 
that  they  were  coming  on  dangerous  ground. 

"  See  ! "  she  broke  in  ;  "  we  have  talked  ourselves  out  of 
the  wood,  and  here  we  are  at  the  beginning  of  this  long, 
level  reach.  It  is  a  good  place  for  a  brisk  canter.  But 
stay  —  whom  have  we  here  ?  " 

This  exclamation  was  called  forth  by  the  appearance  of 
an  open  barouche,  which  just  then  came  round  a  curve  of 
the  road  directly  in  front  of  them.  Lucy  immediately  rec- 
ognized the  equipage  of  Mr.  Gore ;  and  that  gentleman 
himself  was  one  of  two  who  occupied  the  front  seat.  On 
the  back  seat  were  an  elderly  lady  and  a  young  one, 
whom  she  correctly  surmised  to  be  Mrs.  Sandoval  and  her 
19 


290  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

daughter.  As  the  carriage  passed  them,  Lucy  bowed,  with 
a  smile  like  sunshine,  in  answer  to  Mr.  Gore's  stately  salu- 
tation, and  Stafford  bent  low  his  uncovered  head  to  the 
ladies. 

"  The  nature  of  Mr.  Stafford's  frequent  urgent  business 
is  explained,"  said  Miss  Sandoval,  rather  dryly,  as  the  eques- 
trians swept  out  of  sight.  "  Pray,  who  is  that  lady,  Mr. 
Gore  ?  " 

"  That  was  Miss  Eraser,  a  charming  young  friend  of 
mine,  whom  I  hope  to  give  you  an  opportunity  of  meet- 
ihg." 

"From  Colchester?" 

"  No.  Her  father's  house  is  just  above  here,  on  the  hill 
we  passed  a  while  ago." 

"  O !  one  of  these  farmers ! " 

Miss  Sandoval  was  displeased.  She  was  surprised,  also, 
to  learn  that  there  was  some  one  in  this  remote  region 
whose  attractions  outweighed  her  own.  Besides,  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  some  day  ride  that  very  horse  on 
which  she  saw  Lucy  mounted,  and  had  been  told,  with 
many  expressions  of  regret,  that  it  was  lent.  Miss  Sando- 
val, however,  fell  into  a  very  common  error — that  of  un- 
dervaluing an  adversary  she  did  not  know ;  and  she  re- 
solved to  put  a  speedy  end  to  this  defection,  believing  that 
her  powers  of  raillery  could  hardly  fail  to  rid  her  of  any 
rival  this  rural  region  was  likely  to  furnish. 

"  Miss  Sandoval,  I  presume,"  said  Lucy,  as  the  carriage 
disappeared.  "  It  is  a  handsome  face,"  she  added,  honestly, 
though  without  any  enthusiasm. 

*'  She  is  handsome  —  very,  though  far  less  beautiful  than 
her  mother.  Mrs.  Sandoval  has  one  of  those  plain  faces 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  291 

which  yet  are  full  of  a  beauty  that  defies  time ;  a  beauty, 
indeed,  which  ripens  with  age.  We  never  see  it  in  the  faces 
of  the  very  young." 

"  Such  beauty,  for  instance,  as  my  cousin  Hannah's?" 

"Just  that.  Hannah's  face  is  really  lovely  to  me.  I 
doubt  if  even  you,  who  value  her  so  truly,  can  understand 
the  sense  of  perfect  enjoyment,  the  deep  and  entire  con- 
tent, with  which  I  each  time  found  myself  under  her  roof, 
during  that  eventful  winter  when  I  first  met  you.  I  am 
by  nature  domestic  in  my  tastes  and  feelings,  —  you  smile, 
but  it  is  so, — and  in  the  serene  atmosphere  of  that  fam- 
ily circle  I  was  at  once  as  much  at  home  as  some  long- 
absent  wanderer  welcomed  back  to  his  own  roof.  I  was 
received  by  Hannah  to  her  hearth,  and  afterwards  to  her 
friendship,  with  such  generous  trust  and  confidence,  that 
in  parting  with  her  after  our  brief  acquaintance  I  felt  like 
leaving  an  old  friend.  She  has  ever  since  held  much  the 
same  place  in  my  regard  which  other  men  keep  for  the 
dear  elder  sisters  and  kind  maiden  aunts.  Why  has  she 
never  married  ?  " 

"  She  was  to  have  been  married  many  years  ago.  I  can 
just  remember  the  young  man  to  whom  she  was  promised. 
Poor  fellow !  he  died  of  a  fever  a  few  days  before  that 
appointed  for  the  wedding;  and  every  one  thought  that 
Hannah  would  die,  too.  But  she  lived,  —  people  do  live 
through  so  much,  —  and  came  back  again  to  a  healthy, 
cheerful  place  in  the  world.  The  only  change  discernible 
in  her  is,  that  she  is,  if  possible,  more  of  an  angel  than  ever. 
See !  we  are  coming  to  the  river." 

They  were,  indeed,  close  upon  it  —  a  broad  and  rapid 
stream,  flowing  between  bold  and  wooded  shores.  The  road 


292  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

ran  sometimes  near  the  bank,  giving  pleasant  glimpses  of  the 
birches  and  young  pines  that  leaned  over  the  brink;  some- 
times swept  away  from  it,  leaving  space  between  for  farm- 
houses and  cultivated  fields.  The  great  bluff  known  as 
Indian  Head  already  appeared  in  view,  and  a  moment 
later  the  fertile  plain  at  its  foot,  where  a  rude  shaft  of  dark- 
gray  stone,  surmounted  by  a  Latin  cross,  marks  the  scene 
of  one  of  those  terrible  and  bloody  tragedies  so  common 
in  the  early  history  of  New  England. 

Lucy  and  Stafford  had  been  riding  slowly  in  order  to 
allow  Miles  and  Mary  to  overtake  them.  Now,  however, 
the  carriage  wheels  sounded  close  behind ;  and  as  the  riders 
rose  over  the  crest  of  the  last  hill,  and  had  the  wide  plain 
before  them,  they  both  yielded  to  the  same  impulse,  and, 
gathering  up  the  reins,  which  had  been  allowed  to  drop 
loosely  on  the  horses'  necks,  they  dashed  forward  at  the 
topmost  speed  of  the  spirited  animals  on  which  they  were 
mounted. 

Burke,  meantime,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Rodney,  a  mar- 
ried sister  of  his  own,  who  lived  at  Colchester,  was  await- 
ing the  arrival  of  the  Hillsboro'  party.  Mrs.  Rodney  was 
older  than  her  brother,  and  wholly  unlike  him,  being  a  cor- 
dial, bustling,  rather  fussy  little  body,  fond  of  managing, 
and  as  talkative  as  he  was  taciturn.  She  was  extremely 
fond  and  proud  of  her  brother ;  and  the  most  ardent  wish 
of  her  heart  was  to  see  him  happily  married,  though  she 
had  never  yet  been  able  to  find  a  woman  who  seemed  to 
her  really  worthy  of  him.  She  had  sufficient  penetration 
to  perceive  that  if  was  no  common  attraction  which  was 
drawing  Burke  so  constantly  to  Hillsboro'.  The  Frasers 
were  well  known  throughout  the  county,  especially  the 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  2(J;> 

captain ;  and  gossip  had  not  failed  to  circulate  some  ru- 
mors of  the  beautiful  grandchild  who  was  sure  to  be  his 
heiress.  When,  therefore,  her  brother  had  told  her  of  this 
little  party,  and  asked  her  assistance  in  doing  the  honors 
to  his  guests,  she  had  been  at  no  loss  to  guess  on  whose 
account  the  excursion  was  planned.  But  in  jumping  at 
her  own  conclusions  in  this  matter,  good  Mrs.  Rodney 
made  one  very  natural  mistake.  Her  brother  being  in  her 
eyes  the  most  exalted  of  human  beings,  it  did  not  occur 
to  her  that  any  young  lady  whom  he  might  distinguish  by 
his  preference  could  be  insensible  to  the  honor.  She  had 
often  felt  anxious  lest  his  choice  should  fall  on  some  one 
whom  she  could  not  wholly  approve ;  but  that,  when  he 
did  choose,  there  could  be  any  question  of  the  success  of 
his  suit,  had  hardly  entered  into  her  mind  as  possible.  She 
was  quick  enough  to  detect  the  evidences  of  his  strong 
interest  when  he  spoke  to  her  of  Lucy  Fraser ;  and,  think- 
ing she  understood  the  whole  affair  perfectly,  she  was  pre- 
pared to  welcome  the  latter  as  a  prospective  sister-in-iaw. 
She  even  anticipated  with  much  pleasure  the  thought  of 
introducing  Miss  Fraser  to  the  home  over  which  she  was  to 
preside,  and  to  examine  which  she  did  not  doubt  was  the 
real  object  of  this  excursion. 

Burke  and  his  sister  had  alighted  from  their  carriage, 
the  horse  was  fastened  in  the  shade  of  the  trees,  and  the 
two,  leaning  against  the  pedestal  of  the  monument,  watched 
the  approach  of  the  party.  As  the  two  equestrians  swept 
over  the  plain,  and  came  at  a  swift  gallop  along  the  wind- 
ing lane  which,  skirting  a  cornfield,  led  to  where  they 
were  standing,  Mrs.  Rodney  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
surprise. 


294  .         HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  I  never  saw  so  graceful  and  fearless  a  rider.  And  what 
a  pace  they  are  keeping !  Singleton,  is  that  young  Mr. 
Elliot  with  her?" 

"  No ;  Miles  is  in  the  carriage  behind.  That  is  a  Mr. 
Stafford,  a  chance  acquaintance  of  the  Erasers,  and  attached 
to  the  party  by  accident  merely.  I  asked  him  because  I 
could  not  civilly  avoid  it." 

Mr.  Stafford  was  a  person  of  no  interest  to  Mrs.  Rodney ; 
she  had  eyes  only  for  the  beautiful  girl  who  rode  beside 
him,  and  whom  her  brother  at  that  moment  stepped  for- 
ward to  assist  in  alighting.  Unluckily  for  him,  his  foot 
became  entangled  in  a  tuft  of  rank-growing  weeds;  and, 
though  he  did  not  fall,  the  momentary  delay  gave  Stafford 
time  to  spring  from  his  saddle,  and,  releasing  Lucy's  foot 
from  the  stirrup,  to  receive  her  in  his  arms  as  she  descended. 
Burke  could  have  struck  him  for  thus  forestalling  himself; 
but  he  was  compelled  to  cover  his  chagrin  under  the  mask 
of  politeness,  and  his  embarrassment  by  the  ceremony  of 
introduction. 

Mrs.  Rodney  greeted  Lucy  with  a  degree  of  empresse- 
ment  which  slightly  surprised  while  it  gratified  that  young 
lady. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  know  you,  my  dear,"  she  whispered, 
kissing  Lucy's  cheek.  "  Singleton  has  prepared  me  to  love 
you  at  first  sight,,  and  I  am  sure  we  shall  get  on  charm- 
ingly." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  my  dear  madam,"  replied  the  uncon- 
scious Lucy,  with  a  smile  which  Mrs.  Rodney  thought 
wonderfully  sweet.  She  had  spoken  the  truth  when  she 
said  that  she  was  ready  to  be  charmed  with  her  brother's 
choice. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  295 

The  others  were  now  alighting ;  and,  the  greetings  being 
over,  they  prepared  for  a  walk  to  explore  the  various  points 
of  picturesque  or  historic  interest  in  the  neighborhood. 
Lucy  gathered  up  the  long  skirt  of  her  habit,  and  put  her 
arm  through  that  of  Miles ;  Stafford  offered  his  to  Mary ; 
Mrs.  Rodney  attached  herself  to  Lucy's  side,  and  Burke  was 
left  to  lead  the  way. 

"  This  way,"  he  said,  indicating  an  opening  in  the  close- 
lying  forest. 

Stafford  scanned  the  path  pointed  out,  his  observant  eye 
noting  at  a  glance  the  character  of  the  soil. 

"Could  we  not  find  a  path  higher  up  the  hill?"  he  said. 
"  I  am  inclined  to  think  there  is  water  here :  the  ladies 
will  wet  their  feet." 

Now,  there  was  no  particular  reason  why  Burke  should 
take  offence  at  these  words ;  but  he  chose  to  consider  them 
an  imputation  upon  his  judgment,  and  he  was  annoyed  to 
see  that  Lucy  slightly  hesitated. 

"  You  have  not  confidence  in  my  guidance,  then  ?  "  he 
said,  in  a  tone  in  which  injured  pride  was  plainly  percep- 
tible. 

"I  have  confidence  in  these  boots,"  answered  Lucy, 
laughing,  as  she  held  out  one  little  foot,  encased  in  the  neat 
leather  boot  she  wore  for  the  stirrup. 

"  Come,  then,"  Burke  replied ;  and  they  plunged  into 
the  tangled  path.  For  a  short  distance  they  proceeded 
very  favorably ;  but  the  way  lay  through  a  hollow  where 
the  soil,  loose  and  porous,  was  filled  like  a  sponge  with 
yesterday's  rain.  The  whole  party,  following  close  upon 
each  other,  talking  and  laughing,  and  rather  heedless  of 
their  steps,  were  suddenly  and  very  disagreeably  recalled 


296  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

to  a  sense  of  their  position  by  finding  themselves  sinking 
in  something  very  like  a  bog.  The  gentlemen  —  thanks 
to  high,  thick  boots  —  escaped  unharmed.  Lucy,  quick 
of  eye  and  foot,  made  two  light  springs,  just  touching 
the  yielding  tufts  of  moss,  and  landed  safe  on  terra  firma  ; 
Mary,  before  her  feet  had  time  to  sink  in  the  treacherous 
sponge,  was  caught  in  Stafford's  strong  arms,  and  lifted 
over  dry-shod  ;  but  Mrs.  Rodney  was  less  fortunate.  She 
felt  the  loose  soil  yielding  under  her  feet,  and,  quite  irres- 
olute what  to  do,  stood  still,  and  continued  to  sink,  uttering 
a  little  cry  of  perplexity  and  distress.  Stafford,  having 
deposited  Mary  in  a  place  of  safety,  turned  back  to  Mrs. 
Rodney's  assistance,  and  quickly  extricated  her  from  her 
disagreeable  position. 

To  be  planted  ankle  deep  in  black  forest  mud  is  not  an 
agreeable  experience  for  any  lady ;  and  as  Mrs.  Rodney 
ruefully  contemplated  the  spectacle  of  her  lately  trim  boots 
and  spotless  stockings,  she  may  be  excused  if  a  slight  feel- 
ing of  vexation  disturbed  the  serenity  of  her  spirit. 

"  Really,  Singleton,"  she  said,  "  I  think  you  might  have 
ascertained  what  sort  of  a  place  this  was  before  you  led  us 
into  it  so  confidently." 

"I  am  very  sorry,  Eliza,"  replied  poor  Burke,  humbly. 
"  I  have  often  been  here,  but  never  found  it  wet  before." 

"  We  all  forgot  how  recent  the  rain  had  been,"  said 
Mary,  anxious  to  smooth  away  the  ruffled  feeling.  "But 
Mrs.  Rodney  cannot  remain  in  her  present  plight.  I  think 
in  some  one  of  these  farm-houses  she  might  find  the  means 
of  repairing  damages." 

As  this  was  entirely  the  most  judicious  proposal  Avhich 
could  be  made,  Mrs.  Rodney  acceded  to  it ;  and,  Stafford 


HILLSBORO'    FAUMS.  297 

and  Miles  both  offering  their  services  as  escort,  she  ac- 
cepted the  arm.  of  the  latter,  and  set  off  across  the  fields 
to  a  farm-house  not  far  away. 

The  rest  of  the  party  proceeded  in  their  walk,  choosing 
by  common  but  tacit  consent  a  path  where  Stafford  had 
at  first  suggested,  somewhat  higher  up  the  slope  of  the 
hill.  Lucy  and  Mary  both  exerted  themselves  to  dissipate 
the  somewhat  unpleasant  mood  which  had  come  over  their 
entertainer,  and  Stafford  seconded  them  to  the  best  of  his 
ability.  The  latter  was  iu  the  most  excellent  humor  with 
himself  and  every  one.  He  had  enjoyed  his  ride  with  the 
zest  of  health  and  strength,  and  Lucy's  sweet  companion- 
ship more  keenly  than  she  guessed.  His  high  spirits  over- 
flowed in  gay  and  amusing  talk,  and  in  a  hundred  ready 
courtesies  to  all  around  him.  Mary,  who  looked  upon  him 
with  much  disfavor,  as  one  whose  influence  upon  her  own 
cherished  plans  she  dreaded,  could  not  escape  to-day  the 
infection  of  his  sunny  temper.  As  for  Burke,  she  was 
thoroughly  out  of  patience  with  him.  He  was  conscious 
of  having  made  himself  slightly  absurd,  and  the  thought 
wounded  his  self-love  so  keenly  that  he  could  not  dismiss 
the  sense  of  mortification,  nor  could  he  hide  the  irritation 
which  he  felt.  He  really  resented  the  presence  of  Staf- 
ford as  something  which  had  been  forced  upon  him  against 
his  will ;  and,  though  too  truly  a  gentleman  to  be  capable 
of  rudeness  to  a  guest  of  his  own,  he  was  not  able  to  ban- 
ish from  his  manner  towards  Stafford  a  certain  constraint 
and  coldness  which  the  latter  was  too  penetrating  not  to 
understand.  Mary  felt  sure  that  he  understood  it,  and 
that  on  several  occasions  it  required  the  exercise  of  con- 
siderable self-control  not  to  disturb  the  harmony  of  the 


298  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

party  by  any  betrayal  of  his  resentment.  She  saw,  too, 
that  Lucy,  despite  the  serene  unconsciousness  of  her  man- 
ner, was  really  noting  every  act,  look,  and  tone  of  these 
two  pretenders  to  her  favor,  and  shrewdly  making  her  own 
estimate  of  the  temper  of  each.  The  folly  of  Burke  in  al- 
lowing himself  to  present  so  disadvantageous  a  contrast 
to  his  rival  provoked  Mary,  as  it  threatened  the  success  of 
her  cherished  hopes. 

Mrs.  Rodney  and  Miles  did  not  return  until  the  party 
had  nearly  finished  their  walk;  and  by  this  time  the  appe- 
tites of  all  began  to  suggest  thoughts  of  dinner.  They 
had  exhausted  most  of  the  points  of  interest  in  the  neigh- 
borhood ;  at  least,  they  had  walked  over  the  ground  ;  but 
I  do  not  feel  prepared  to  say  that  they  had  greatly  enjoyed 
their  explorations.  Certainly,  when  Burke  proposed  an 
immediate  adjournment  to  Colchester  and  dinner,  the  idea 
was  received  with  favor,  and  all  turned  their  steps  towards 
the  spot  where  they  had  left  the  horses. 

Stafford,  accompanied  by  Mary,  was  the  first  to  reach 
the  place.  He  handed  her  to  her  seat  in  Miles's  carriage, 
and  then  busied  himself  with  examining  Lucy's  saddle- 
girth,  and  rebuckling  her  stirrup.  He  was  thus  employed 
when  Lucy  came  up,  leaning  on  Burke's  arm. 

"All  ready,"  he  said,  passing  the  bridle  to  his  other  hand 
as  she  came  neai\  Lucy  withdrew  her  hand  from  her  com- 
panion's arm,  and  was  just  reaching  it  to  Stafford,  when 
Burke  interposed. 

"  You  arc  my  guest  to-day,"  he  said ;  "it  is  my  privilege 
to  assist  you." 

He  did  not  offer  to  take  the  bridle  from  Stafford's  hand, 
{.hus  leaving  the  office  of  the  groom  to  the  latter,  while  he 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  299 

bent  himself  to  receive  Lucy's  foot  in  his  palm.  Stafford's 
eye  flashed  for  an  instant,  but  he  said  nothing.  Lucy 
perceived  his  displeasure,  and  hesitated,  feeling  —  what 
Burke,  to  do  him  justice,  never  thought  of —  the  discour- 
tesy of  thus  thrusting  aside  one  to  whom  she  was  indebted 
for  the  horse  she  rode.  Stafford  saw  her  color  change,  and, 
only  half  understanding,  believed  that  she  was  embarrassed 
by  his  presence,  while  she  preferred  the  attendance  of  his 
rival. 

His  face  cleared  as  suddenly  as  it  had  clouded,  and  he 
stood  quietly  by,  while  Burke  lifted  Lucy  to  her  seat  and 
arranged  her  stirrup  and  habit ;  then  he  said,  with  a  tone 
and  manner  full  of  cordial  courtesy,  — 

"  If  you  can  induce  Mrs.  Rodney  to  accept  me  as  her 
companion,  I  need  not  deprive  Miss  Eraser  of  the  attend- 
ance of  her  host.  My  horse  is  entirely  at  her  service  and 
yours." 

"  You  are  extremely  kind,"  answered  Burke,  surprised, 
yet  pleased,  at  an  offer  which  implied  so  much.  "I  thank 
you ;  but  I  cannot  think  of  taking  your  horse  from  you." 

"  You  have  no  choice  where  a  lady's  wishes  are  con- 
cerned," answered  Stafford,  gayly,  though  a  pang  of  mortal 
jealousy  pierced  him  as  he  caught  a  sudden  flash  in  Lucy's 
eye,  and  interpreted  it  as  a  sign  of  pleasure  at  this  change. 
Before  Burke  could  offer  any  further  remonstrance,  he  had 
bowed  to  them  both,  and  walked  away  to  acquaint  Mrs. 
Rodney  with  the  altered  arrangement. 

To  that  lady  it  seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world.  She  took  it  for  granted  that  Stafford  was  aware 
of  the  understanding  between  her  brother  and  Miss  Fraser, 
and  felt  a  friendly  desire  to  forward  their  wishes.  She 


300  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

thought  he  had  shown  a  very  proper  degree  of  considera- 
tion for  them,  and  grew  extremely  friendly  with  him  at 
once.  She  was  quite  unaware  of  revealing  any  family  se- 
crets ;  but,  being  of  an  expansive  and  talkative  turn,  and 
her  mind  being  full  of  her  brother  and  his  love  affairs,  she 
naturally  talked  close  to  the  theme  uppermost  with  her. 
Consequently,  they  had  not  accomplished  half  the  distance 
to  Colchester  before  Stafford  was  fully  in  possession  of  her 
view  of  the  state  of  affairs  between  her  brother  and  Lucy. 
It  could  hardly  be  expected  that  he  should  guess  how  very 
slight  were  the  grounds  on  which  she  had  based  her  conclu- 
sions; and  he  sat  beside  her,  rather  silent,  listening  politely 
to  her  flow  of  talk,  and  striving  hard  to  reconcile  Lucy's  un- 
failing impartiality  of  manner  between  himself  and  Burke 
with  so  developed  a  preference  for  his  rival.  He  had  not 
succeeded  in  adjusting  the  matter  when  their  arrival  at 
Burke's  house  in  Colchester  interrupted  the  train  of  his 
reflections. 

It  is  doubtful  if  Burke  had  enjoyed  his  ride  so  much  as 
he  might  have  expected.  Lucy  was  not  disposed  to  let 
him  fall  into  the  mistake  which  Stafford  had  made ;  and 
her  manner  towards  him,  though  perfectly  kind  and 
friendly,  was  yet  marked  by  a  delicate  shade  of  reserve 
which  was  new,  and  which  he  did  not  know  whether  to 
interpret  favorably  or  unfavorably  to  his  hopes.  But, 
slight  as  was  the  barrier  which  she  threw  between  them, 
he  could  not  get  over  it ;  and  when  he  assisted  her  to  alight 
before  his  own  door,  he  was  as  much  in  doubt  regarding 
her  sentiments  for  himself  as  he  hud  ever  been,  and  quite 
uncertain  whether  he  had  enjoyed  more  than  the  semblance 
of  a  triumph. 


HTLLSBORO'    FARMS.  301 

But  at  least  he  had  got  back  his  self-control,  and  was 
prepared  to  play  the  part  of  host  with  dignity  and  pro- 
priety ;  and  the  whole  party,  as  they  gathered  around  the 
dinner-table,  seemed  as  cordial  and  harmonious  as  if  no 
opposing  interests  had  place  among  them. 

After  dinner,  the  ladies  withdrew,  under  the  guidance 
of  Mrs.  Rodney,  to  private  apartments,  where  they  could 
take  some  rest,  preparatory  to  another  long  ride  back  to 
Hillsboro' ;  and  the  gentlemen  smoked  their  cigars  in  the 
garden.  Burke  exerted  himself  to  do  the  honors  of  his 
house  agreeably  to  Stafford;  and,  the  latter  responding 
frankly  to  his  advances,  conversation  grew  animated,  and 
Burke  was  surprised  to  find  himself  yielding,  as  he  had 
sean  others  do,  to  the  charm  of  a  manner  which  he  had 
always  chosen  to  consider  artificial  and  false.  When  the 
ladies  rejoined  them,  tea  was  served  in  the  garden,  and 
immediately  afterwards  orders  were  given  to  have  the 
horses  brought  up. 

It  now  wanted  but  a  few  minutes  of  sunset.  Miles  had 
called  Lucy  away  to  another  part  of  the  garden,  and  pres- 
ently the  sound  of  their  laughter  drew  the  attention  of  the 
others  in  their  direction.  Looking  round,  they  saw  Lucy 
standing,  with  her  hat  in  her  hand,  the  skirt  of  her  blue 
habit  gathered  over  her  arm,  and  the  sunshine  brighten- 
ing her  lovely  hair,  watching  Miles,  who  was  apparently 
pelting  some  object  with  flowers  from  a  handful  which  she 
held.  The  others  moved  down  to  the  spot. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  asked  Mary. 

"  O,  Miles  made  a  boastful  assertion  just  now,  and  I  am 
forcing  him  to  disprove  his  words." 

"How?" 


302  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"He  declared  that,  in  throwing  these  flowers,  he  could, 
twice  out  of  three  times,  lodge  a  cluster  in  the  hands  of 
that  stone  nymph  yonder.  He  failed  ignominiously." 

"Why,  I  do  believe  I  could  do  that  myself,"  exclaimed 
Mary,  catching  up  a  handful  of  the  flowers,  and  throwing 
one  after  another,  with  a  good  deal  of  energy.  The  first 
fell  short  of  its  mark  by  some  yards;  at  the  second  trial 
she  overshot  her  aim  by  about  the  same  distance.  The 
third  attempt,  though  a  failure,  came  nearer  to  success,  for 
it  struck  the  poor  nymph  full  in  the  face.  Disgusted  with 
her  ill  success,  and  amiably  desirous  to  see  some  one  else 
fail,  she  selected  three  of  the  blossoms,  and,  bringing  them 
to  Stafford,  invited  him  to  try  his  luck. 

Laughing,  he  took  the  flowers,  confident,  from  long  ex- 
perience, in  the  accuracy  of  his  eye  and  the  steadiness  of 
his  hand.  With  a  careless  movement  he  flung  the  first ; 
it  fell  lightly  on  the  upraised  hand  of  the  statue,  and 
rested  there.  In  his  next  effort  he  was  less  fortunate ;  the 
two  flowers,  becoming  entangled,  were  flung  together  as 
one ;  and,  the  added  weight  marring  his  nice  calculation 
of  distance,  they  barely  touched  the  hand,  and  fell  to  the 
ground.  Turning  to  Lucy,  he  begged  another  flower  for 
his  third'  trial.  As  she  gave  it,  she  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
and  with  a  somewhat  mischievous  smile,  — 

"  This  shall  be  your  third  omen.  Lodge  the  flower,  you 
win  ;  if  it  falls,  you  lose  all." 

He  sent  a  quick  look  in  tocher  laughing  eyes,  while  a 
sudden,  strong  color  flushed  his  face. 

"  Will  you  guarantee  success  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  fate." 

"  Come,  Mr.  Stafford,"  said  Mrs.  Rodney,  "  we  are  wait- 
ing to  see  you  fail." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  303 

"  The  audience  is  getting  impatient,"  said  Mary. 

Stafford  silently  took  the  flower  from  Lucy's  hand,  and 
threw  it  after  the  others.  It  touched  the  fingers  of  the 
statue,  wavered  a  moment,  and  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  Failed,  by  all  the  saints !  "  cried  Miles,  springing  up 
from  the  grass,  where  he  had  flung  himself.  Stafford 
turned  to  Lucy. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  omens  now  ?  "  she  asked,  laughing. 

"  Not  in  the  least ;  I  have  lost  all  faith,"  he  answered, 
forcing  a  laugh ;  but  Lucy  saw,  with  surprise,  that  he  had 
grown  slightly  pale.  She  had  not  supposed  it  was  a  mat- 
ter to  which  he  attached  any  importance. 

Miles  called  upon  Burke  to  try  his  fortune ;  but  the  an- 
nouncement that  all  was  ready  for  their  departure  here 
interrupted  them.  Burke  gave  his  arm  to  Miss  Fraser ; 
Stafford  paused  to  make  his  adieus  to  Mrs.  Rodney,  and 
managed  to  prolong  them  until  their  host  had  placed  Lucy 
upon  her  horse.  He  then  mounted  his  own,  the  bay  again 
ranged  up  by  the  side  of  the  chestnut ;  and,  with  a  bow 
and  a  word  of  farewell,  the  two  riders  swept  through  the 
gateway,  and,  followed  by  Mary  and  her  brother,  took  their 
way  rapidly  homeward. 

They  rode  for  some  distance  in  perfect  silence.  The 
day  had  been  productive  of  numerous  annoyances  to  Lucy  ; 
and,  though  she  had  maintained  outwardly  her  usual 
gayety,  it  had,  for  some  hours  past,  been  with  a  good  deal 
of  effort  that  she  did  so.  The  various  disagreeable  occur- 
rences which  have  been  narrated  had  seemed  to  excite 
little  attention  from  her;  but  not  one  of  them  had  escaped 
her;  and  they  had  jarred  painfully  upon  her  feelings.  She 
resented  Burke's  conduct,  as  showing  a  want  of  delicate 


304  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

consideration  for  herself;  and,  though  she  could  not  resent, 
she  was  deeply  annoyed  by  the  construction  which  Staf- 
ford had  put  upon  her  embarrassment,  and  which  had  led 
him  to  yield  his  claims  to  her  supposed  wishes.  In  addi- 
tion to  this,  she  had,  during  their  absence  from  the  gentle- 
men that  afternoon,  been  constantly  in  the  society  of  Mrs. 

* 

Rodney,  and  she  had  not  failed  to  detect  the  delusion 
under  which  that  lady  was  laboring.  Mrs.  Rodney  had, 
however,  made  no  remark  sufficiently  definite  to  enable 
Lucy  to  undeceive  her ;  and  so  she  had  necessarily  been 
left  undisturbed  in  her  mistaken  impression.  It  was  all 
very  absurd,  and  Lucy  could  have  laughed  at  it  heartily, 
only — only,  somehow  it  pained  and  wounded  her.  She  had 
promised  herself  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  from  this  excur- 
sion ;  but,  on  the  whole,  it  had  disappointed  her.  She  felt 
sad  and  dispirited ;  and,  as  she  rode  slowly  along  by  her 
companion's  side,  she  congratulated  herself  that  the  deep- 
ening twilight  hid  from  him  the  tears  which,  in  spite  of 
her  efforts,  would  keep  swelling  in  her  eyes.  He  was  not 
long  in  perceiving  her  unusual  mood,  and  respected  it  for 
some  time  by  silence. 

The  daylight  died  wholly  away,  and  the  starry  splendor 
of  the  summer  night  assumed  its  place.  The  dewy  and 
fragrant  air  was  cool  and  refreshing,  after  the  heat  of  the 
day,  and  the  stillness  and  repose  of  nature  soothed  and 
calmed  the  perturbed  spirit  of  the  young  girl.  She  roused 
herself  at  length,  breathed  a  quivering  long-drawn  sigh, 
and  seemed  to  fling  off  some  weight.  Then,  for  the  first 
time,  Stafford  spoke  —  quietly,  gravely,  only  in  some  slight 
reference  to  the  beauty  of  the  night.  But  the  tones  of  his 
voice  were  full  of  a  tender  and  respectful  sympathy  that 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  305 

was  very  grateful  to  her;  and  talking  on  in  a  grave,  ear- 
nest way,  not  of  any  personal  theme,  but  of  things  which 
yet  touch  the  deeper  consciousness  of  all,  he  drew  her,  little 
by  little,  out  of  her  sorrowful  mood,  and  back  to  the  cheer- 
ful mastery  of  herself.  They  rode  slowly,  yet  they  did 
not  find  the  way  long  to  Hillsboro'.  The  carriage  con- 
taining their  companions  had  passed  them  soon  after 
the  start,  and  was  miles  in  advance;  but  they  hardly 
thought  of  the  distance.  When  they  reached  home,  com- 
ing up  the  grassy  slope  at  a  slow  walk,  the  feet  of  their 
horses  made  so  little  sound  on  the  soft  turf  that  no  one  in 
the  house  heard  their  approach,  and  the  squire  failed  to  be 
ready  to  1'eceive  his  daughter.  Stafford  alighted  and  came 
to  her  side.  She  released  her  foot  from  the  stirrup  and 
leaned  forward,  placing  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders  for 
her  usual  light  spring.  But  it  chanced  that  a  fold  of  her 
habit  had  become  entangled  about  the  saddle,  and  she 
would  have  fallen  had  not  Stafford  received  her  in  his 
arms. 

For  one  moment  he  held  her  there  —  for  one  wild,  deli- 
rious moment,  remembered  often  in  the  bitterness  of  after 
years  with  a  thrill  of  passionate  triumph ;  he  strained  her 
to  his  breast  with  a  vehemence  almost  violent;  he  felt  the 
beating  of  her  heart  against  his  own. 

One  instant  only.  Then,  gently  releasing  her,  he  mur- 
mured a  husky,  almost  inaudible  good  night,  and  was  gone, 
leaving  Lucy  a  little  in  doubt  whether  to  be  angry,  or  to 
believe  that  brief  embrace  had  been  only  the  result  of  an 

accident. 

20 


306  HILLSBOKO'    FARMS. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

MILES  bade  farewell  at  an  early  hour  the  next  morning. 
It  was  his  final  departure  for  that  summer,  as  he  was  to  set 
out  in  a  few  days  on  a  long-projected  journey  to  Rio  Ja- 
neiro. The  same  day's  mail  brought  to  Mary  a  letter  from 
her  husband,  fixing  the  time  of  his  arrival,  and  to  Mrs. 
Fraser  a  note  from  Mr.  Gore,  inviting  them  all  to  a  small 
evening  party  at  his  house.  A  comparison  of  the  two 
showed  that  Fanshaw  might  be  expected  on  the  day  fol- 
lowing that  on  which  they  were  invited  to  Edgehill. 

The  intervening  days  passed  very  quietly.  Mr.  Burke 
called  twice,  and  promised  to  meet  them  on  Thursday  at 
Mr.  Gore's.  Stafford  came  one  morning,  but  found  the 
younger  ladies  out.  He  lingered  some  time,  talking  with 
Mrs.  Fraser,  but  the  morning  wore  on  without  bringing 
them,  and  he  was  forced  at  last  to  take  his  leave. 

Thursday  came  duly  round.  On  the  evening  of  that 
day,  as  Lucy  and  her  friend  stood  before  the  mirror  in  a 
chamber  of  Mr.  Gore's  house,  reviewing  their  careful  toi- 
lets, there  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Fraser  and  the 
captain  had  already  descended  to  the  drawing-room ;  and 
Lucy,  supposing  her  father  had  come  for  them,  opened  the 
door.  She  found,  instead,  a  servant  belonging  to  the  house. 

The  girl  offered  a  magnificent  bouquet  of  scarlet  flow- 
ers, saying,  "Mr.  Stafford  sends  his  compliments  to  Mrs. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  307 

Fanshaw,  and  would  she  do  him  the  honor  to  accept  these 
flowers  ?  " 

Lucy  took  them,  and  turned  back  into  the  room. 

"  See,  Mary,  what  Mr.  Stafford  has  sent  you !  -What 
spendid  cardinals!  Isn't  it  early  for  them?" 

"  For  me,  from  Mr.  Stafford !  You  must  be  mistaken, 
Lucy ;  they  were  meant  for  you." 

"I  am  not  Mrs.  Fanshaw,  my  dear.  Don't  be  modest. 
I  should  need  no  urging  to  accept  a  bouquet  like  that." 

"  I  do  not  need  any  urging ;  but  it  struck  me  as  odd,  his 
sending  it  to  me.  I  do  not  see  your  hair  ornaments,  Lucy. 
I  think  they  must  have  been  left  out  of  the  box." 

"It  is  no  matter.     Here  is  a  very  pretty  substitute." 

Lucy  pointed,  as  she  spoke,  to  a  vase  on  the  table,  which 
was  full  of  the  fragrant  and  delicate  blossoms  of  the  sweet 
pea.  Selecting  some  of  the  finest,  she  added  a  few  glossy, 
dark  leaves  of  an  evergreen  plant,  and  arranged  them 
gracefully  among  her  heavy  braids  of  hair.  This  coiffure 
was  perfectly  becoming,  and  harmonized  well  with  her 
dress,  which  was  of  white,  simple  in  style  and  fashion, 
but  of  rich  and  elegant  materials.  Other  ornaments  she 
wore  none. 

The  bouquet  of  cardinals,  which  Mary  carried  in  her 
hand  as  they  went  down  stairs,  had  really  been  intended 
for  Lucy.  The  girl  whom  Stafford  had  made  his  messen- 
ger had  somehow  confounded  in  her  mind  the  names  of 
Fraser  and  Fanshaw,  and  hence  they  had  missed  their 
destination  —  a  circumstance  trifling  in  itself,  but  pregnant 
of  consequences. 

When  Mr.  Fraser,  escorting  his  daughter  and  Mary, 
entered  the  drawing-room,  where  Mr.  Gore  received  his 


308  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

guests,  Stafford,  who  was  standing  talking  before  a  sofa 
occupied  by  Miss  Sandoval  and  another  lady,  turned  to 
look  at  the  group.  Mary  was  hidden  from  his  view  by  the 
tall  figure  of  Mr.  Fraser.  His  eye  rested  at  once  upon  the 
delicate  blossoms  in  Lucy's  hair,  —  not  his  brilliant  cardi- 
nals,— and  then  his  glance  ran  quickly  over  the  rest  of  her 
figure.  One  little  gloved  hand  rested  on  her  father's  arm, 
and  the  other,  drooping  at  her  side,  held  a  fan  of  white 
ostrich  feathers,  but  nothing  else.  Stafford  looked  on 
while  Mr.  Gore,  with  even  more  than  his  usual  warmth, 
welcomed  this  last  arrival,  and  then  he  resumed  his  chat 
with  Miss  Sandoval. 

The  latter  had  noticed  the  entrance  of  our  party,  and,  rec- 
ognizing in  Lucy  the  lady  she  had  seen  riding  with  Staf- 
ford, observed,  with  some  surprise,  the  air  of  perfect  high- 
bred grace  which  heightened  the  effect  of  her  rare  beauty. 
She  began  to  think  that  perhaps  she  might  have  been  a 
little  hasty  in  undervaluing  the  attractions  of  this  possible 
rival.  Such  a  country  girl  as  this  might  easily  be  dan- 
gerous. 

Mary  was  presently  carried  off  into  another  room,  where 
she  was  seized  upon  by  an  old  gentleman  from  Colchester, 
and  fastened  down  to  the  card-table.  Lucy,  after  exchang- 
ing some  elaborate  compliments  with  Mr.  Gore,  withdrew 
slightly  apart,  and,  still  leaning  on  her  father's  arm,  stood 
to  survey  the  different  groups  about  her.  Most  of  those 
present  were  strangers  to  her.  The  circle  of  her  acquaint- 
ance, previous  to  her  long  absence,  had,  of  course,  been 
limited ;  and  her  return  was  too  I'ecent  to  allow  of  its  yet 
being  largely  increased.  They  were  soon  joined  by  Burke, 
who  presented  a  friend  of  his,  Mr.  Halstead.  Standing 


HILLSBOBO'    FARMS.  309 

under  the  brilliant  light  of  the  chandelier,  in  graceful  and 
animated  conversation,  Lucy  became  the  centre  of  many 
curious  and  admiring  eyes.  A  lady  sitting  on  the  sofa  be- 
side Miss  Sandoval  drew  Stafford's  attention,  and  asked  if 
he  knew  the  young  lady  in  white  to  whom  Mr.  Halstead 
was  talking.  Stafford  turned  slowly,  and  looked  in  the 
direction  indicated.  At  that  instant  Lucy  perceived  him 
for  the  first  time,  and  bowed  with  a  charming  smile  of 
recognition.  His  bow  in  return  was  as  bland  as  her  own, 
though  he  could  not  help  a  slight  feeling  of  angry  resent- 
ment as  he  noticed  the  profuse  display  of  pale  pink  blos- 
soms in  her  hair,  and  thought  of  his  own  rejected  offering. 
She  might,  at  least,  he  thought,  have  appeared  without 
flowers.  Before  he  could  answer  the  lady's  question,  she 
was  carried  off  to  join  the  dancers,  and  Stafford  sank  upon 
the  sofa  at  Miss  Sandoval's  side,  and,  stimulated  by  his  an- 
ger towards  Lucy,  flirted  with  that  lady  with  a  spirit  and 
devotion  quite  noticeable. 

Lucy,  wholly  unconscious  of  offence,  was  enjoying  her- 
self extremely.  Transferred  from  her  father's  arm  to 
Burke's,  she  sauntered  through  the  rooms,  made  several 
new  and  revived  some  old  acquaintances,  looked  over 
Mary  at  the  card-table,  and  finally,  at  Mr.  Gore's  request, 
seated  herself  at  the  piano.  Stafford  started  slightly  as 
the  first  clear  notes  of  her  voice  sounded  through  the 
room,  and  listened  intently.  Miss  Sandoval,  with  her 
many  artificialities,  had  a  genuine  love  of  music,  and  she 
now  remained  silent,  a  delighted  listener.  When  the  song 
ceased,  there  was  quite  a  deep  circle  around  the  piano, 
which  did  not  break  up  until  a  movement  was  made  to 
the  dancing-room.  The  carpet  in  one  of  the  great  parlors 


310  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

had  been  covered  with  smoothly-stretched  Holland  for 
that  purpose,  and  some  unseen  musicians  stationed  on 
the  veranda  just  now  commenced  a  beautiful  waltz. 
Lucy's  hand  was  solicited  by  Miles's  friend,  Stratton 
Kingsbury,  with  whom  she  had  a  slight  acquaintance; 
and  very  soon  Stafford  and  Miss  Sandoval  glided  into  the 
revolving  circle. 

After  a  time  Lucy  and  her  partner  withdrew  a  little 
from  the  dancers,  and  stood  by  a  window  watching  the 
others.  Stafford  and  Miss  Sandoval  swept  slowly  by. 
They  were  talking  in  low  tones  as  they  floated  round  the 
circle,  and  he  was  looking  down  into  her  handsome,  up- 
raised eyes,  and,  conscious  that  Lucy  was  observing  him, 
had  thrown  into  his  own  an  expression  of  absorbed  admi- 
ration. Lucy  observed  them  with  a  little  thoughtful  smile, 
and  said  to  herself,  as  she  intimated  to  her  partner  her  de- 
sire to  rejoin  the  dancers,  "It  is  a  thousand  pities  he  will 
never  be  anything  but  a  pleasant  flirt!"  She  tried  to 
think  there  was  no  touch  of  pain,  only  a  little  tinge  of 
friendly  regret  at  her  heart  as  she  said  it. 

The  dancing  ceased  after  a  time,  and  Miss  Sandoval 
being  asked  to  sing,  Stafford  was  left  to  himself.  He 
crossed  the  room  to  where  Lucy,  with  Burke,  Kingsbury, 
and  one  or  two  ladies,  was  standing.  Some  polite  phrases 
of  greeting  were  exchanged,  and  Lucy  said, — 

"We  were  very  sorry,  Mr.  Stafford,  to  have  been  out 
when  you  called  yesterday.  Mrs.  Fanshaw  particularly 
regretted  it,  for  she  leaves  us  to-morrow." 

"  Indeed !     That  is  sudden  —  is  it  not  ?  " 

"Rather;  Mr.  Fanshaw  returns  on  that  day.  Miles, 
too,  is  gone.  I  beg  you  will  not  entirely  desert  us,  for  you 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  311 

see  we  shall  be  quite  alone.  Mr.  Kingsbury,  I  will  look 
at  that  picture  now."  And  she  moved  away,  leaving  Staf- 
ford astounded  at  what  he  called  her  consummate  cool- 
ness. He  addressed  himself  to  the  others  until  the  music 
called  a  quadrille,  and  the  ladies  were  claimed  by  part- 
ners. 

He  stood  for  some  minutes  moodily  watching  the  figure, 
when  a  sudden  thought  occurred  to  him ;  and,  with  a  half- 
repressed  exclamation,  he  turned  and  passed  quickly  into 
the  hall.  There  meeting  Figaro,  he  sent  him  for  the  ser- 
vant who  had  carried  the  flowers  to  Lucy. 

"Jane,"  he  said,  as  the  girl  appeared,  "did  you  deliver 
the  flowers  just  as  I  directed  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  I  did." 

"  You  are  sure  there  was  no  mistake  ?  " 

"  O,  no,  sir !  there  could  be  no  mistake,  for  I  gave  them 
into  the  lady's  own  hand." 

"  Very  well,  Jane }  you  are  a  good  girl ;  you  may  go." 

Stafford  turned  and  stepped  out  upon  the  veranda.  To 
his  surprise,  he  found  that  it  was  raining  heavily.  He  felt 
sullen  and  out  of  humor  —  did  not  want  to  go  back  into 
the  house,  and  would  have  liked  nothing  better  than  a 
furious  ride  under  this  black,  dripping  sky.  He  was 
roused  by  hearing  the  voices  of  two  gentlemen,  who  ap- 
peared for  a  moment  at  an  open  window. 

"Who  was  that  lovely  girl  in  white  you  just  danced 
with?" 

"O,  that  was  the  beautiful  Miss  Fraser,  of  Hillsboro'." 

"  Is  she  the  one  Singleton  Burke  is  going  to  marry  ?  " 

"That  is  what  they  say;  and  his  attentions  to-night  cer- 
tainly look  like  it.  Here  comes  Helen  —  I  want  to  intro- 
duce you." 


312  HILLSBOEO'    FARMS. 

They  moved  away,  and  Stafford  was  alone  again.  Pres- 
ently he  thought  of  Mary,  and  remembering  that  Lucy  had 
said  she  was  to  return  home  the  next  day,  resolved  to  seek 
for  her.  With  this  intention  he  had  just  entered  the 
rooms,  when  he  was  met  by  Mr.  Gore,  who  desired  to  pre- 
sent him  to  some  ladies,  hinting,  at  the  same  time,  a  wish 
that  he  should  be  particularly  civil  to  them.  For  the  next 
half  hour,  therefore,  he  gave  himself,  with  great  assiduity, 
to  the  entertainment  of  these  friends  of  his  cousin's,  caring 
nothing  about  them,  and  wishing  them  in  Egypt  all  the 
time.  Having  at  last  seen  them  to  their  carriage,  he  was 
about  to  resume  his  search  for  Mary,  when  he  was  claimed 
by  Miss  Sandoval,  who  required  some  trifling  service  at  his 
hands.  She  overwhelmed  him  with  a  flood  of  talk.  She 
had  just  been  introduced,  by  Mr.  Gore,  to  that  lovely  Miss 
Fraser  —  was  never  so  charmed  in  her  life  —  such  grace, 
such  beauty,  and  such  perfect  manners !  It  was  lucky  she 
was  engaged,  or  certainly  all  the  women  would  be  sure  to 
hate  her!  And  what  an  agreeable  man  was  that  Mr. 
Burke!  And  so  she  talked  on,  obliging  her  companion  to 
listen  and  reply,  until  she  chose  to  seek  a  new  topic.  He 
had  no  mind  to  go  near  Lucy,  although  she  sat  at  so  little 
distance  that  the  sound  of  her  sweet,  low  voice  frequently 
reached  his  ear ;  but  he  did  desire  to  speak  a  word  of  fare- 
well to  Mary ;  and  he  waited,  hoping  she  might  come  to 
seek  her  friend.  Some  time  passed  —  the  groups  about 
him  shifted  and  changed,  but  she  did  not  appear;  and, 
looking  j-ound,  he  saw  that  Lucy,  too,  was  gone. 

A  moment  after,  fortune  favoring  him,  he  made  his  es- 
cape from  Miss  Sandoval.  He  hurried  through  the  rooms, 
in  which  the  throng  was  thinning  fast,  but  could  nowhere 


HILLSBQRO'    FARMS.  313 

find  the  object  of  his  search.  Meeting  Stratton  Kingsbury, 
he  asked  if  he  had  seen  Mrs.  Fanshaw. 

"Yes;  I  saw  her  and  Miss  Fraser  taking  leave  some 
time  since.  I  think  they  have  gone." 

Disappointed  and  out  of  patience,  Stafford  was  crossing 
the  hall,  when  he  saw  Captain  Fraser  just  handing  Mary 
into  a  carriage  that  stood  at  the  gate.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment Lucy,  ready  shawled  for  her  departure,  came  down 
the  stairs.  It  was  raining  heavily,  and  Stafford,  taking  an 
umbrella  from  the  servant  who  stood  waiting  on  the  steps, 
escorted  her  down  the  dripping  walk,  and  handed  her  to  a 
seat  beside  her  grandfather.  Mary  leaned  eagerly  forward 
from  beyond  Mrs.  Fraser,  and  reached  him  her  hand. 

"Why,  Mr.  Stafford  !  I  have  hardly  seen  you  to-night. 
Where  have  you  kept  your,self?" 

"  The  fates  have  been  in  it,  I  think,  Mrs.  Fanshaw.  I 
have  been  seeking  you  in  vain  for  the  last  hour.  I  began 
to  fear  I  should  lose  the  opportunity  of  bidding  you  fare- 
well." 

"  And  I  was  afraid,"  answered  Mary,  "  that  I  should  not 
be  able  to  thank  you  for  the  beautiful  flowers  you  so  kindly 
sent  me.  You  see  I  have  them  still."  And  she  held  up 
the  luckless  cardinals. 

Mary  wondered  a  little  at  the  sudden  flush  that  red- 
dened the  cheek  of  the  gentleman,  but  he  did- not  venture 
to  look  either  at  her  or  at  Lucy.  He  made  some  polite 
reply,  and,  seeing  them  all  ready,  bowed,  and  closed  the 
carriage  door.  They  drove  away  into  the  rain  and  dark- 
ness, and  he  walked  back  into  the  hall  with  a  clouded  and 
troubled  face. 

When  the  guests  were  all  gone,  he  sat  a  long  time  in  his 


314  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

own  room,  enveloped  in  clouds  of  smoke,  thinking  over  the 
events  of  the  evening.  He  looked  composed  enough,  but, 
in  truth,  his  mind  was  in  commotion.  He  was  in  a  rage 
with  himself  for  the  folly  he  had  been  guilty  of  in  allowing 
his  resentment  to  betray  him  into  a  course  which  might 
prove  the  ruin  of  his  hopes.  What  must  Lucy  think  of 
him  ?  An  idiot  —  a  born  idiot  —  would  have  known  better 
than  to  make  such  an  exhibition  of  coxcombry.  That  he 
should  have  dared,  too,  so  to  misinterpret  Lucy's  simple 
dignity  of  character!  He  might  have  known  there  was 
some  mistake,  or,  at  least,  that  she  had  good  reason  for 
what  she  did.  He  could  not  tell  whether  she  had  most 
reason  to  be  angry  or  disgusted  with  his  conduct.  She 
was  not  likely — thank  Heaven  for  that! — to  guess  the  de- 
liberate impertinence  of  which  he  had  been  guilty ;  but 
what  impression  of  his  general  sincerity  was  she  likely  to 
receive  from  his  exaggerated  devotion  to  Miss  Sandoval, 
and  his  marked  neglect  of  herself.  He  could  have  stran- 
gled himself  for  his  unutterable  folly. 

Then,  too,  the  report  of  her  engagement  to  Burke  — 
could  it  be  true  ?  The  thought  maddened  him.  He  did 
not  believe  in  the  rumor  fully;  but  how  much  foundation 
it  might  have  in  truth  he  dreaded  to  think.  He  remem- 
bered many  occasions  when  he  had  been  impressed  with 
the  different-  footing  held  by  himself  and  Burke.  Some- 
times— though  these  occasions  were  rare — he  had  believed 
his  own  to  be  the  best.  Even  now,  he  thought,  —  the  old 
elastic  spirit  rising  again,  —  even  now,  give  him  but  a  fair 
field,  and  he  would  win  her  yet.  Win  her!  If  she  had 
begun  but  in  the  least  to  care  for  him,  the  man  did  not 
live  to  whom  he  would  resign  her. 


HILLSBORO*    FARMS.  315 

An  hour  later  he  lay  stretched  under  the  curtains  of 
green  damask,  sleeping  soundly.  One  arm  was  thrown 
over  his  head  in  a  boyish  attitude,  and  a  slight  smile 
curved  nis  handsome  lips,  while  the  counterpane,  flung 
back,  revealed  the  regular  rise  and  fall  of  his  deep  chest, 
the  even  breath  telling  of  the  quiet,  unbroken  slumber  of 
vigorous,  healthful  manhood. 


316  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

FOE  an  hour  after  Mary's  departure  Lucy  felt  half  in- 
clined to  be  lonely  and  discontented.  As  she  walked  about 
the  house,  and  picked  up,  here  and  there,  little  traces  of  a 
childish  presence,  or  in  Mary's  chamber  contemplated  the 
litter  and  confusion  of  recent  packing,  she  was  sorely 
tempted  to  be  a  little  dismal.  But  she  soon  thought  bet- 
ter of  it,  and  went  busily  to  work  instead,  dusting  the  par- 
lors, rearranging  her  drawers  and  closets,  helping  her 
mother  to  make  cake,  and  moving  about  the  house  with 
everywhere  that  quiet,  effective  touch  which  some  women 
seem  to  have  as  a  gift  of  nature,  and  which  is  so  magical 
in  harmonizing  and  composing  everything  they  come  near. 
In  the  course  of  the  morning  she  took  a  long  walk  over  the 
fields,  to  carry  a  luncheon  to  her  father.  As  she  felt  the 
fresh  air  on  her  cheek,  and  saw  Carlo  bounding  by  her 
side,  she  fell  a  thinking  of  the  time  when,  with  the  dog  for 
her  only  companion,  she  had  spent  whole  days  among  the 
hills,  a  happy  child,  who  wondered  why  her  eyes  would 
often  fill  with  tears  when  she  was  so  glad  ;  and,  in  recol- 
lections of  that  dear  life  long  ago,  she  forgot  the  discon- 
tent of  the  morning. 

In  the  afternoon  an  old  lady,  talkative  and  gossiping, 
came  to  pay  her  mother  a  visit ;  and,  not  before  having 
seen  Lucy  since  her  return,  she  had  a  great  many  ques- 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  317 

tions  to  ask  relative  to  her  sojourn  in  foreign  lands,  and  a 
vast  amount  of  local  news  and  gossip  to  communicate. 
Lucy  gave  herself  to  the  old  woman's  entertainment  with 
exemplary  sweetness  and  patience.  She  answered  all  her 
questions  ;  she  took  a  deep  interest  in  each  member  of  her 
numerous  family ;  she  played  and  sang  to  her ;  she  earned, 
in  short,  the  flattering  opinion  which  the  old  woman  after- 
wards expressed,  that  "Lucy  Eraser  was  just  as  pretty- 
spoken  as  ever  she  was;  furrin  parts  hadn't  hurt  her  a 
mite." 

But  still  Lucy  could  not  help  feeling  a  little  weary,  and 
she  found  herself  wondering,  as  she  looked  along  the  yel- 
low high-road  towards  Edgehill,  if  Stafford  would  take  it 
in  his  head  to  drive  over  to  Hillsboro'  that  evening. 

He  did  not  come,  however ;  and  the  second  day  passed 
much-  the  same,  no  visitor  appearing  to  break  the  unac- 
customed monotony.  But  in  the  evening  came  Burke, 
who  brought  a  new  book,  a  very  affectionate  message  from 
Mrs.  Rodney,  and  an  evident  desire  to  make  himself  par- 
ticularly agreeable.  Lucy  was  glad  to  see  him,  but  she 
was  not  sorry  when  he  went.  He  embarrassed  her.  Or- 
dinarily she  had  found  no  difficulty  in  getting  on  with 
Singleton  Burke,  —  of  whom,  by  the  way,  the  majority  of 
young  ladies  stood  slightly  in  awe.  His  grave  and  rather 
stately  manners  had  never  that  effect  upon  her,  not  because 
she  had  any  especial  claims  to  superiority,  but  because  she 
was  too  free  from  egotism  herself  to  be  annoyed  at  it  in 
others.  I  think  Lucy  had  a  good  deal  of  pride ;  but  of  that 
sensitive  self-esteem  which  takes  offence  at  the  same  quality 
in  others,  she  had  none.  She  was  very  catholic  in  her  sym- 
pathies, and  tolerant  of  all  sorts  of  characters.  But  to-day 


318  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

her  friend's  presence  seemed  to  embarrass  her.  For  the 
first  time  she  felt  the  suitor  in  his  manner.  She  was  glad 
when  he  went,  and  she  was  not  sorry  to  hear  him  say  that 
business  would  call  him  for  two  or  three  weeks  to  a  dis- 
tant part  of  the  state. 

Those  two  or  three  weeks  slipped  away  almost  imper- 
ceptibly. Stafford  came  and  went  between  Hillsboro'  and 
Edgehill  almost  daily.  At  Hannah's  house  he  was  a  con- 
stant guest.  At  the  Frasers'  his  visits  were  more  uncertain. 
Sometimes  he  but  just  looked  in  upon  the  family;  at 
others  he  would  linger  for  hours.  His  manner  towards 
Lucy  had  undergone  a  change.  In  her  presence  there 
constantly  beset  him  a  reserve  which  was  almost  timidity, 
and  which  was  in  singular  contrast  to  the  natural  frank 
gallantry  of  his  bearing  towards  all  women.  In  truth,  the 
recollection  of  his  folly  on  the  night  of  Mr.  Gore's  party 
haunted  him  constantly,  and  checked  every  impulse  to 
reveal  to  her  by  his  manner  the  feelings  with  which  she 
inspired  him.  How  could  he  expect  her  to  put  any  faith 
in  such  revelations?  Had  he  not  himself  taught  her  to 
believe  them  false  and  worthless  ?  Day  after  day  he  lin- 
gered, fascinated,  by  Lucy's  side,  at  one  moment  buoyed 
up  by  the  hope  that  she  returned  his  love,  in  the  next 
convinced  of  her  complete  indifference,  and  half  resolved 
to  fly  and  torment  himself  no  more  for  a  woman  as  un- 
reachable  as  a  star. 

And  Lucy  ?  Lucy  thought  she  had  settled  definitely 
in  her  own  mind  what  their  intercourse  amounted  to  —  a 
pleasant,  worldly  friendship ;  no  more,  and  no  less.  He 
cared  no  more  for  her  than  for  any  other  attractive  woman ; 
and  he  was  to  her  merely  an  agreeable  companion.  That 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  319 

he  was  a  very  agreeable  one  she  did  not  think  of  conceal- 
ing from  herself.  He  suited  her  to  the  very  core  of  her 
consciousness.  She  had  seen  many  men  more  original,  of 
7iiore  commanding  intellectual  powers,  wiser  scholars,  of  a 
deeper,  though  scarcely  of  a  more  elegant,  culture,  of  a 
loftier  purpose,  of  a  more  consistent  life.  Those,  no  doubt, 
were  nobler  natures;  but  this  one  harmonized  with  her 
own.  So,  having  settled  the  status  between  them,  having 
made  it  perfectly  plain  that  there  was  no  possible  danger 
of  her  being  in  love  with  this  man,  she  gave  herself  per- 
mission to  enjoy  to  the  utmost  a  companionship  so  con- 
genial. 

Several  days  had  passed,  during  which  Stafford  had  not 
appeared  at  Hillsboro',  and  Lucy  was  beginning  to  wonder 
a  little  at  the  reason.  It  was  Sunday  morning,  arid  she 
was  in  her  own  room  preparing  for  church.  Her  father 
and  mother  had  set  out  early  for  the  Centre,  where  they 
were  in  the  habit  of  attending ;  but  she  had  preferred  for 
to-day  the  simple  service  at  the  old  school-house. 

It  was  a  still,  hot  day,  in  that  brief  period  of  the  perfect 
summer  when  nature  seems  to  pause,  as  if  loath  to  lay  the 
hand  of  change  upon  a  world  so  beautiful.  A  dimness 
seemed  to  have  crept  over  the  intense  blue  of  the  sky, 
which  was  lined,  here  and  there,  by  long,  white,  faintly- 
pencilled  clouds.  The  hay  fields  lay  shorn  and  smooth  ; 
the  waving,  golden  grain  already  invited  the  reapers.  The 
grasshoppers  made  shrill  music  in  the  warm,  dry  grass ;  and 
softly,  from  down  the  valley,  came  the  faint  sound  of  church 
bells. 

Moving  slowly  about  in  the  softened  light  of  the  cham- 
ber, Lucy  finished  her  preparations,  smoothed  the  cool 


320  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

muslin,  and  tied  the  plain  straw  bonnet,  and,  taking  her 
parasol,  went  down  to  join  her  grandfather.  She  heard 
him,  as  she  descended  the  stairs,  in  conversation  with  some 
one  in  the  parlor,  and  recognized  the  voice  as  Stafford's. 
She  met  him  with  unaffected  pleasure.  The  occasional 
sense  of  loneliness  which  had  come  over  her  during  the 
past  few  days,  made  his  presence  doubly  welcome,  and  gave 
a  warmth  to  her  reception  of  him  which  she  had  not  be- 
fore shown.  He  felt  it,  and  his  spirits  rose  at  once.  Per- 
haps he  deceived  himself  slightly  as  to  the  significance  of 
Lucy's  manner.  She  had,  as  I  have  said,  enjoyed  his  so- 
ciety, and  from  the  first  had  received  his  attentions  with 
pleasure,  believing  them  merely  the  sincere  tribute  to  at- 
tractions of  which  she  did  not  affect  to  be  unconscious. 
But  she  had  seen  the  same  show  of  deep  devotion  offered 
to  Miss  Sandoval,  and  knew,  or  thought  she  did,  that  the 
very  next  handsome  woman  would  supersede  them  both. 
It  was  this  conviction  of  his  indifference  which  gave  her 
manner  a  perfect  freedom  from  restraint. 

Stafford  asked  for  Mrs.  Fraser. 

"  She  has  gone  with  my  father  to  attend  church  at  the 
Centre." 

"  Have  you  no  church  nearer  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  we  have  a  service  at  the  school-house,  and  I 
am  going  there.  Will  you  come,  too  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure." 

"  Mind,  I  promise  you  nothing  in  the  way  of  oratory  or 
argument.  I  go  because  it  is  the  habit  of  our  family,  and 
I  like  the  Sunday  church-going  feeling.  But  our  poor 
old  minister  is  remarkable  for  but  one  thing:  the  drowsy 
influence  of  his  discourses  is  really  surprising.  The  old 


HTLLSBORO'    FARMS.  321 

ladies  keep  themselves  awake  with  fennel  and  caraway, 
and  the  younger  ones  —  but  I  will  not  expose  their  devices. 
Are  you  ready,  grandpa  ?  Mr.  Stafford  is  going  with  us." 

Slowly  along  the  grassy  road-side,  on  that  sweet  Sunday 
morning,  walked  Lucy  with  her  two  companions.  They 
talked  together  in  low  tones,  with  accents  suited  to  the 
calm  sei'enity  of  the  hour.  Many  persons  passed  them, 
walking  more  rapidly  towards  the  place  of  worship ;  and 
many  were  the  eyes  which  followed  them  with  kindly 
looks  for  the  captain  and  his  grandchild,  and  curious 
glances  for  the-handsome  stranger  who  accompanied  them. 

As  they  entered  the  low,  red  school-house,  something  in 
the  groups  around  the  door,  or  in  the  circumstances  of  their 
walk,  recalled  to  Lucy's  mind  an  autumn  morning  long 
ago,  when  she,  with  Fanshaw  and  Hannah,  had  come  to 
this  same  place.  O,  how  far  away  seemed  that  time  now! 
Sitting  down  between  her  grandfather  and  Stafford,  she 
began  to  turn  softly  the  leaves  of  a  hymn-book,  and  her 
eyes  rested  abstractedly  upon  its  pages  while  her  mind  was 
busy  with  that  old  time.  There  was  no  bitterness  in  the 
recollection.  The  Lucy  Fraser  of  those  clays  —  the  eager, 
restless  girl,  whose  heart  yielded  itself  so  readily  to  the 
first  delusive  dream  of  love,  was  a  being  so  unlike  herself 
as  to  awaken  much  the  same  feeling  of  compassionate  re- 
membrance she  would  have  felt  for  another  person.  She 
was  even  conscious,  as  her  thoughts  reverted  to  the  events 
of  the  past  month,  of  a  sense  of  thankfulness  that,  out  of 
that  old  pain  and  bitterness,  she  had  gathered  an  experi- 
ence that  had  since  served  her  well.  Her  own  too.  ready 
confidence  was  not  likely  again  to  betray  her. 

The  hymn  was  sung,  the  prayer  was  ended,  and  the  ser- 
21 


322  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

mon  fairly  begun,  but  still  Lucy  remained  wrapped  in  Ler 
reverie.  Stafford,  sitting  close  beside  her,  watched  atten- 
tively the  little  hand  that  fluttered  over  the  hymn-book 
leaves.  He  had  often  taken  it  when  offered  in  greeting ; 
but  now  he  longed  inexpressibly  to  clasp  it  in  his  own,  to 
hold  it  a  close  prisoner.  The  hand  was  just  as  beautiful 
and  tempting  as  years  ago,  when  it  had  been  such  a  delight 
to  Ben  Miller,  or  when  Fanshaw  had  made  little  excuses 
for  taking  it.  From  the  hand  his  eyes  wandered  to  the 
face,  which  seemed  lovelier  than  ever  in  the  pensive  soft- 
ness of  her  present  mood.  Her  abstraction  was  so  deep, 
that  she  remained  quite  unconscious  of  his  intent  gaze. 
Suddenly  he  looked  up,  and  met  the  keen,  searching  eyes 
of  Hannah  Page  fixed  upon  him.  Her  glance  held  his 
own.  For  several  minutes  did  the  gray  and  the  brown 
eyes  confront  each  other,  the  first  with  searching  inquiry, 
the  other  with  resolute  assertion.  Presently  Lucy  looked 
up,  drew  a  soft  breath,  closed  the  book  she  held,  and  turned 
her  attention  to  the  sermon.  Stafford,  too,  made  a  feint 
of  listening,  looking  seriously  straight  at  the  preacher  dur- 
ing the  remainder  of  the  service. 

As  they  were  going  out  at  the  close  of  the  service,  Han- 
nah met  them,  and  urged  them  all  to  go  to  her  house ;  but 
Lucy  declined  on  plea  of  being  housekeeper  for  that  day, 
and  they  proceeded  homeward. 

After  Lucy  had  presided  at  the  pleasant  luncheon,  which 
in  New  England  country  houses  is  the  Sunday  substitute 
for  a  formal  dinner,  the  captain  offered  his  guest  a  cigar, 
and  the  two  gentlemen  betook  themselves  to  the  shade  of 
the  elms  before  the  house,  to  smoke  and  chat.  Lucy  closed 
the  Venetian  doors  of  the  hall,  and,  taking  the  leathern 


HILLSBORO*    FARMS.  323 

arm-chair  before  her  favorite  desk,  occupied  herself  with 
writing  letters. 

An  hour  or  more  passed.  The  gentlemen  had  finished 
their  cigars  and  strayed  to  another  lounging-place,  the 
captain  luring  Stafford  from  one  to  another  of  the  various 
points  of  interest  about  the  farm.  They  were  a  well- 
assorted  pair  of  companions,  despite  the  wide  difference  in 
their  characters.  Indeed,  they  had  many  points  of  resem- 
blance, after  all.  There  was  a  certain  simplicity  and  direct- 
ness of  thought,  a  half-boyish  naturalness  about  them  both, 
which  neither  the  seventy-five  years  of  the  one  nor  the 
artificial  associations  of  the  other  had  been  able  to  over- 
come. They  were  both  originally  of  that  class  of  strong, 
manly  men  who  love  animals  and  are  gentle  to  women  and 
children,  whose  vices,  if  they  have  them,  are  the  vices  of 
the  hot  blood,  not  of  the  perverted  intellect.  They  were 
alike,  too,  in  that  both  of  them  had  always  lived  in  the 
world  as  belonging  to  the  whole  of  it;  there  was  no 
provincial  narrowness  in  the  ideas  of  either.  And  so, 
mutually  pleased,  they  talked  on  of  farm-life  and  sea-life, 
of  politics  and  travel,  of  sport  and  adventure,  and  what- 
ever came  uppermost.  After  a  time,  Lucy  heard  their 
voices  at  the  end  door,  and  went  to  open  it.  She  had  a 
wide  straw  hat  upon  her  head  and  a  book  in  her  hand. 

"  Where  now,  Lucy  ?  "  asked  her  grandfather. 

"  Up  in  the  orchard :  I  think  it  must  be  cooler  there. 
Won't  you  two  come  along  ?  " 

"I  suppose  we  may  as  well.  Come, Mr.  Stafford;  there 
is  cool  shade  under  the  apple  trees." 

The  day  had  become  intensely  warm.  There  was  not  a 
breath  of  air  stirring,  and  hazy,  hot-looking  clouds  half 


324  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

obscured  the  sun.  Lucy  led  the  way  past  the  house  and 
round  to  the  orchard  gate.  Stafford  opened  ft,  and  the 
three  made  their  way  up  the  slope  to  Lucy's  favorite  rest. 
She  found  a  seat  on  the  bent  trunk  of  an  old  apple  tree, 
and  the  captain  and  Stafford  stretched  themselves  on  the 
grass  at  her  feet. 

"  Now,  Lucy,"  said  the  former,  "  produce  your  sermon 
book.  Read  us  out  a  homily ;  and  it  will  be  as  well  as  if 
we  had  gone  to  church." 

"It  is  not  a  sermon  book,"  answered  Lucy,  glancing 
down  at  the  volume,  which  had  fallen  at  her  side, "  but 
something  which  you  like  — '  Elia.'  Mr.  Stafford,  do  you 
think  this  heat  has  left  you  sufficient  energy  to  read  a  page 
or  two?" 

"  I  think  I  might  manage  it,"  said  Stafford,  laughing,  as 
lie  picked  up  the  book.  "  Elia  is  a  lazy  kind  of  fellow, 
and  all  the  better  for  such  weather  as  this.  But  I  think 
you  have  made  a  mistake,"  he  added,  opening  the  volume. 

"  What  have  you  there,  then  ?     Not  Elia  ?  " 

"  It  is  Tasso  —  the  '  Jerusalem  Delivered.' " 

"  It  is  all  the  same  to  me,  if  you  do  not  care.  In  this 
weather  one  must  be  extremely  brilliant  to  know  one  book 
from  another." 

"A  good  exchange,  I  call  it.  Tasso  before  a  dozen 
Lambs  for  me,"  said  the  captain,  lazily  striking  a  match  on 
his  boot  to  light  a  fresh  cigar.  "You  won't  mind  this, 
Lucy  ?  It  is  out  of  doors,  and  you  know  you  like  smoke. 
Now,  Tasso  is  a  poet  with  what  I  call  the  genuine  fire  in 
him.  Worth  a  hundred  of  your  Longfellows,  and  Tcnny- 
sons,  and  other  pindling  modern  fellows.  No  robust  life 
in  a  ship-load  of  their  rhymes." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  325 

"  You  talk  so  because  you  are  such  an  old  Ostrogoth, 
grandpa ;  you  can't  appreciate  the  spirit  of  modern  poetry." 

"  Humph !  Well,  I'm  tolerably  content  with  my  bar- 
barism. It  does  not  matter  so  much  while  I  have  your 
ladyship  to  do  the  refinements.  Shakespeare  and  the 
musical  glasses,  you  know." 

"  Please  read,  Mr.  Stafford,"  said  Lucy,  not  condescend- 
ing to  notice  her  grandfather's  aspersion. 

He  opened  the  book. 

"  This  page,  I  perceive,  has  the  original  and  the  English 
versions  side  by  side.  Which  will  you  have?" 

"  Give  us  the  English,  if  it  is  all  the  same,"  decided  the 
captain.  "  My  Italian  is  of  the  kind  that  sailors  know.  It 
serves  me  well  enough  to  gossip  and  compare  sea-yarns 
with  the  ship-masters  of  Genoa  and  Leghorn ;  but  when 
it  comes  to  poetry,  there  are  some  deficiencies  apparent." 

"And  you,  Miss  Eraser ?" 

"  O,  I  am  almost  as  bad,"  she  answered,  laughing.  "  I 
can  pick  out  a  canto,  by  taking  time ;  but  my  comprehen- 
sion is  slow.  Read  the  English,  unless  you  come  to  some- 
thing good  which  is  lost  in  translation." 

"Where  shall  I  begin?" 

"Almost  anywhere.  This  hot,  dry  day  suits  equally 
well  with  any  of  those  Syrian  pictures." 

She  smiled  a  little  absently  as  she  spoke.  Her  thoughts 
were  wandering  backward  to  a  different  time  and  scene. 
She  leaned  back  a  little  languidly  against  the  rough  trunk 
of  the  apple  tree,  her  broad  hat  shading  her  forehead  from 
the  sun,  that  occasionally  flickered  through  the  leaves. 
One  hand  played  caressingly  with  the  thick  gray  locks  of 
her  grandfather,  who,  half  sitting,  half  reclining  on  the 


326  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

grass  beside  her,  leaned  his  head  against  her  lap,  and  occa- 
sionally blew  a  thin  cloud  from  his  cigar.  Herjeyes,  as  she 
listened,  were  fixed  dreamily  upon  the  dim,  smoky  land- 
scape that  showed  between  the  branches  of  the  trees. 
Stafford  settled  himself  in  such  a  position  that,  by  lifting 
his  eyes,  he  could  watch  the  changes  of  her  expressive 
face,  and  in  a  low,  flexible,  perfectly-modulated  voice,  began 
to  read. 

The  flowing  verse  made  a  music  of  its  own  that  min- 
gled pleasantly  with  the  soft  rustle  of  the  leaves,  and  the 
occasional  sharp,  ringing  song  of  a  locust  in  the  hot  grass. 
Scarcely  any  other  sound  broke  the  stillness.  The  captain 
listened  enjoyingly  for  a  while;  but  at  length  the  drowsy 
air,  the  lulling  murmur  of  the  reader's  voice,  and  the 
soothing  motion  of  Lucy's  hand,  insensibly  had  their  ef- 
fect, and  he  dropped  away  into  the  land  of  dreams.  As 
for  Lucy,  she  listened,  but  her  attention  was  only  half  given 
to  the  poet's  theme.  She  followed,  indeed,  the  march  of 
Godfrey's  host,  as  their  horses'  hoofs  rang  up  the  steep 
ascent  that  led  to  the  holy  city ;  she  heard  the  silver 
plash  of  fountains,  and  caught  the  perfume  of  enchanted 
flowers  from  Armida's  wondrous  garden ;  all  the  brilliant 
pageantry  of  the  poem  moved,  indeed,  before  her  mental 
vision;  but  always,  along  with  these  dazzling  pictures, 
she  seemed  to  see  another  and  widely-different  scene  — 
a  low-walled  farm-house  room,  with  a  bright  fire  blazing 
on  the  hearth,  a  fierce  wintry  storm  raging  out  of  doors, 
and  herself,  a  dreaming  girl,  seated  on  a  low  stool  by  the 
fire,  listening  entranced  to  the  same  voice  which  now 
sounded  in  her  ear,  and  catching  her  first  glimpse  of  the 
world  of  poetry  and  romance.  It  was  a  repetition  of  the 


HILLSBORO     FARMS.  327 

experience  of  the  morning — a  sharp  suggestion  of  the 
contrast  between  her  past  and  present  self,  and  between 
the  hopes  and  dreams  of  that  old  time  and  those  of  to- 
day. How  little  she  had  then  imagined  that  their  chance 
guest  of  a  night  would  ever  come  to  be  anything  to  her! 
But  then  —  he  was  nothing  to  her,  of  course.  The  reflec- 
tion was  driven  back  rather  sharply  the  instant  it  arose  in 
her  mind. 

Insensibly  the  hours  slipped  away.  A  shadow  crept 
over  the  sky,  and  the  hot,  breathless  air  grew  hotter  and 
closer.  The  clouds,  which  earlier  had  seemed  only  a  soft 
haze,  deepened  and  gathered  till  they  lay  in  dense  masses 
through  the  north  and  west,  hiding  the  sun.  But  the 
reader  and  his  now  single  listener  remained  unconscious 
of  the  change.  Occasionally  a  sudden  gust  of  wind 
breathed  like  a  quick,  impatient  sigh  through  the  leaves 
above  them,  and  then  all  was  still  again. 

The  gathering  gloom  forced  Lucy's  attention  at  length. 
She  threw  a  glance  at  the  heavens,  then,  leaning  over  her 
grandfather,  drew  his  watch  from  his  pocket. 

"  Mr.  Stafford,"  she  exclaimed,  while  the  captain,  roused 
by  her  movement,  started  up,  "  have  you  any  idea  what 
time  it  is?" 

"  Not  the  slightest." 

"  It  is  near  six  —  the  primitive  hour  at  which  my  mother 
has  her  Sunday  tea." 

"  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late.  Captain  Fraser,  what  do 
these  clouds  promise  to  bring  us  ?  " 

"  Thunder,  lightning,  and  rain." 

"  Immediately  ?  " 

"I  should  say  not  at  once.     But  suppose  we  return  to 


328  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

the  house.  I  have  a  fancy  that  a  dish  of  tea  would  agree- 
ably take  the  taste  of  Miss  Lucy's  al  fresco  poetics  out  of 
my  mouth." 

"Little  you  have  known  of  them  —  sound  asleep  ever 
since  we  sat  down  here !  Come,  Mr.  Stafford,  we  will  go 
and  see  what  my  mother  has  to  offer  us." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Eraser  had  returned  during  their  absence, 
and  the  latter  was  waiting  for  them  in  the  doorway. 

"I  heard  that  you  were  here,"  she  said,  giving  her 
hand  kindly  to  Stafford.  "  I  have  been  worrying  for  the 
last  half  hour  lest  the  shower  should  overtake  you  all." 

"  We  had  lost  all  recollection  of  the  time.  I,  for  one, 
was  quite  shocked  to  learn  how  late  it  was,*and  to  what 
an  unconscionable  length  my  call  had  extended." 

"Pray  do  not  think  of  it:  we  are  the  gainers.  And  you 
see  it  is  impossible  for  you  to  go  now.  This  shower  would 
certainly  overtake  you  before  you  were  half  way  to  Edge- 
hill.  Then  our  tea  is  waiting,  and  we  cannot  allow  you  to 
slight  our  hospitality." 

Stafford  was  too  willing  to  be  persuaded  to  make  much 
resistance,  and  he  followed  his  kind  hostess  to  the  supper- 
room. 

The  clouds,  meantime,  rose  steadily,  growing  darker  and 
more  ominous ;  and  by  the  time  tea  was  over,  the  storm 
was  close  at  hand.  Gathered  about  the  door,  they  watched 
its  swift  approach.  The  clouds,  spreading,  had  already 
passed,  the  zenith.  The  stillness  was  death-like ;  every 
leaf  and  blade  of  grass  was  motionless.  The  air  felt 
heavy  and  close.  A  sudden  twilight,  deep  and  unnatural, 
had  descended,  its  gloom  occasionally  broken  by  a  broad 
glare  of  lightning,  which  was  followed  by  the  long  roll 


HILLSBOBO'    FARMS.  329 

of  distant  thunder.  Momentarily  the  thunder  grew  heavier, 
and  the  flashes  more  blinding. 

Suddenly  a  sharp,  jagged  line  of  fire  leaped  from  the 
bosom  of  the  cloud,  followed  by  a  short,  deafening  crash, 
and  in  the  silence  that  followed  they  could  hear  the  rising 
wind.  The  distant  trees  began  to  bend ;  and  in  the  next 
instant  it  swept  through  the  orchard,  and  bowed  the  tall 
elms  before  the  house. 

"  Come  in,  Lucy.  The  rain  will  be  here  directly,"  said 
her  father. 

She  came  in  reluctantly,  the  first  harbingers  of  the  com- 
ing flood  glittering  on  her  hair.  Mr.  Fraser  closed  the 
door,  and  he  had  scarcely  done  so,  when  the  rain  struck  it 
in  sheets. 

They  went  into  the  parlor,  and  Lucy  seated  herself  at 
the  piano.  She  had  still  enough  of  her  old  childish  ner- 
vousness in  the  presence  of  a  wild  storm  to  contrive  that 
her  grandfather  should  have  a  place  near  her.  Stafford 
and  Mrs.  Fraser  sat  together  on  a  sofa,  and  Mr.  Fraser 
slowly  paced  up  and  down  the  room. 

The  noise  of  the  storm  outside  precluded  general  con- 
versation, and,  as  the  thunder  crashed  louder  and  louder, 
even  occasional  remark  was  silenced.  The  liquid  notes 
evoked  by  Lucy's  fingers  were  half  lost  amid  the  tumult, 
but  still  she  played  on ;  and  soon  the  listeners  heard  her 
voice  rising  sweet  and  clear  in  one  of  those  grand  old  sa- 
cred melodies  so  beloved  of  all  devotional  hearts.  Indis- 
tinctly at  first,  and  often  inaudible,  as  the  thunder  shook 
the  house,  but  calm  and  steady,  gaining  as  the  storm  rolled 
away,  at  length,  unfaltering  and  triumphant,  it  swelled 
above  all  dissonance  and  confusion. 


330  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

After  a  time  the  force  of  the  tempest  spent  itself,  the 
thunder  muttered  farther  and  farther  in  the  distance,  and 
the  rain  ceased.  It  was  growing  late,  and  Stafford  again 
rose  to  take  his  leave.  As  he  resolutely  declined  to  stay 
the  night,  his  horse  was  sent  for.  While  awaiting  its 
arrival,  he  stood  talking  with  his  host  and  hostess.  The 
captain  had  walked  down  the  path  under  the  elms,  and 
stood  contemplating  the  aspects  of  the  night.  Lucy  gath- 
ered her  flowing  rnuslin  skirts  over  her  arm,  and  stole 
down  the  walk  to  his  side.  She  stood  silent  for  a  few 
moments,  enjoying  the  freshness  and  stillness. 

"  How  sweet  and  calm  it  is  now! "  she  said,  softly.  Glan- 
cing up  into  the  old  man's  face,  she  met  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  her  with  a  searching,  half-anxious  look.  "  What  is 
it,  grandpa  ?  "  she  asked,  with  her  old  childish  directness 
of  sympathy.  "  Does  anything  trouble  you  ?  "  • 

The  old  man  laid  his  large  brown  hand  over  the  little 
white  ones  that  clasped  his  arm. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  he  said ;  "  I  am  half  afraid  somebody  is 
going  to  forget  the  promises  she  has  always  made  to  stay 
with  her  old  sailor  grandfather." 

A  quick  flush  rose  to  Lucy's  face,  but  it  was  gone  in  a 
moment. 

"  There  is  no  sort  of  danger,"  she  said,  gayly. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  All  this  riding  and  driving, 
and  sending  of  flowers,  and  books,  and  music,  —  I  don't 
like  it." 

"  Mere  gallantry,  grandpa." 

"  Don't  tell  me.  I  know  when  a  young  man's  eyes  speak 
things  that  his  lips  don't  dare  to,  and  what  it  means  when 
the  brushing  of  a  girl's  dress  makes  him  turn  red  and  pale 
like  any  simpleton." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  331 

Lucy  did  not  answer  quite  so  promptly  this  time  ;  she 
waited  to  still  a  little  quiver,  strangely  like  joy,  that  she 
feared  would  betray  itself  in  her  voice.  When  she  did 
speak,  it  was  gravely,  and  with  an  honest,  steady  look  into 
her  grandfather's  eyes. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  really.  Young  men  nowadays  are 
not  so  honest  and  straightforward  as  you,  and  a  great  deal 
goes  for  very  little  with  them." 

"  It  may  be  ;  but  in  certain  respects  we  are  all  alike ;  and 
a  man  in  love  is  the  same  thing  the  world  over,  and  for  all 
time." 

Lucy  made  no  reply,  for  at  this  moment  Jerry  appeared 
with  Stafford's  horse ;  and  that  gentleman,  havjng  finished 
his  adieus  to  those  within,  advanced  towards  the  spot  where 
they  were  standing.  He  spoke  a  few  words  of  farewell,  the 
captain  responding  heartily,  and  Lucy,  for  the  first  time 
towards  him,  a  little  shyly.  He  felt  the  change  in  her 
manner,  and  hope  grew  warm  at  his  heart.  It  was  with 
inexpressible  unwillingness  that  he  prepared  to  depart. 
Even  after  he  had  taken  his  seat  in  the  phaeton,  and  the 
reins  were  in  his  hand,  he  lingered,  exchanging  a  few  last 
words,  and  watching  Lucy  as  she  leaned  against  the  tall 
figure  of  her  grandfather.  The  rain  had  wholly  ceased,  and 
through  the  broken  clouds  the  moon  looked  out.  The 
lightning  still  glimmered  at  intervals  along  the  southern 
horizon,  and  a  cool  wind  was  rising  from  the  west.  It 
sighed  in  the  branches  of  the  trees,  lifted  the  one  long 
ring  of  hair  on  Lucy's  neck,  and  fluttered  her  airy  sum- 
mer draperies.  He  thought  she  made  a  lovely  picture, 
standing  there  in  the  cool  darkness. 

That  was  the  memory  of  her  he  was  to  carry  for  long 


332  HILLSBORO*    FARMS. 

years.     It  was  the  picture  he  took  with  him  down  into  the 
gloom  of  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death. 

The  last  lingering  adieu  was  spoken,  and  he  turned  his 
horse's  head.  But  more  than  once,  as  he  drove  away,  he 
leaned  from  the  carriage  to  look  back  at  the  two  shadowy 
figures  standing  relieved  against  the  lamp-light  that  shone 
under  the  dripping  boughs. 


HILLSBOBO'   FARMS.  333 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  next  day  brought  an  unexpected  arrival.  Lucy  was 
busy  in  the  upper  hall,  when,  hearing  the  sound  of  wheels, 
she  looked  from  the  window,  —  that  window  from  which 
she  had  watched,  with  Stafford,  the  gleam  of  old  Nancy's 
lights,  —  and  saw  a  carriage  draw  up  under  the  shadow  of 
the  elms.  It  was  occupied  by  a  number  of  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen, none  of  whom  she  could  see  distinctly  through  the 
close  branches ;  but  the  sound  of  their  gay  voices  came  up 
to  where  she  stood.  She  hastily  completed  what  she  was 
doing,  smoothed  the  folds  of  her  fresh  morning  wrapper, 
and  went  down.  The  carriage  had  driven  away,  a  small 
portmanteau  stood  in  the  hall,  and  in  the  parlor  she  found 
her  mother  welcoming  a  single  guest.  Lucy  uttered  a 
little  cry  of  pleasure  as  she  recognized  her  former  travel- 
ling companion,  Mrs.  Lovell. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Lovell !  This  is  indeed  a  pleasant  sur- 
prise. To  what  happy  chance  do  I  owe  it  ?  " 

"  To  a  whim  of  mine,  of  course,  that  being  the  cause  of 
most  of  my  movements,"  replied  the  new-comer,  with  a 
charming  smile.  "Mr.  Lovell  had  business  which  brought 
him  to  the  vicinity  of  Kiffton  for  a  few  days ;  and  as  I 
knew  it  was  not  far  from  you,  I  resolved,  at  the  last  mo- 
ment, when  it  was  quite  too  late  to  think  of  writing,  to 
come  too.  At  the  hotel  in  Kiffton  I  found  a  party  of 


334  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

friends  from  Philadelphia.  They  had  arranged  an  excur- 
sion for  to-day  to  some  place  in  this  neighborhood ;  and, 
as  they  offered  to  bring  me  along,  I  accepted  the  chance 
of  finding  you,  and  came." 

"  How  very  glad  I  am  that  you  did !  But  I  think  you 
look  tired.  Pray  rest  here  by  the  window,  —  this  lounge 
is  comfortable,  —  and  I  will  sit  by  you  and  ask  questions." 

As  they  talked  on,  and  the  first  flush  of  interest  and 

• 

excitement  faded  from  the  cheek  of  her  friend,  Lucy  was 
struck  by  the  air  of  languor  and  fragility  which  showed 
itself  in  her  appearance.  She  lay  on  a  sofa,  while  Lucy,  on 
a  low  stool  beside  her,  sat  talking  in  quiet,  happy  tones, 
and  smoothing,  with  her  gentle  fingers,  the  luxuriant  hair 
that  drooped  over  the  forehead  of  her  friend.  She  noticed 
that  the  white  temples  were  thin  and  hollow,  and  all  the 
color  in  her  face  concentrated  itself  in  the  feverish  bright- 
ness of  her  lips. 

In  Lucy's  eyes  Mrs.  Lovell  was  the  most  beautiful  of 
living  women ;  and  she  was,  indeed,  singularly  lovely.  In 
age  she  was  about  twenty-eight.  Her  figure  had  been 
full  and  round,  and  yet  retained  its  graceful  contours. 
Her  small,  elegant  head  was  poised  on  a  neck  white  and 
graceful  as  a  swan's.  Her  complexion  was  dazzlingly  fair, 
with  delicate,  almost  infantile  features,  full,  ripe  lips,  and 
pearly  teeth.  Her  hair  was  of  the  richest  aiiburn,  and  her 
eyes,  shaded  by  silken  lashes,  were  large,  dark,  and  full  of 
passionate  fire.  It  was  the  face  of  one  born  for  gayety  and 
enjoyment;  but  now  its  expression  was  one  of  settled  mel- 
ancholy and  discontent.  So  profound  was  this  air  of  sad- 
ness, that  it  pervaded  all  she  said  and  did,  gave  a  languid 
grace  to  her  movements,  breathed  in  her  slow,  sweet  smile, 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  335 

and  spoke  in  the  soft  accents  of  her  voice.  The  friendship 
between  her  and  Lucy  had  been  the  result  rather  of  acci- 
dent and  circumstances  than  of  any  strong  sympathy  or 
affinity  between  them.  Mrs.  Lovell  was  the  only  child  of 
wealthy  parents  —  a  beauty  spoiled  and  flattered  from  her 
cradle.  She  had  married,  at  seventeen,  a  man  of  more 
than  double  her  age,  who  worshipped  her,  and  spoiled  and 
flattered  her  as  her  parents  had  done.  Her  life  had  been 
spent  in  an  atmosphere  at  once  superficial  and  artificial, 
and  her  ideas  and  tastes  were  formed  and  matured  under 
such  influences.  The  result  was  better  than  could  have 
been  expected.  She  was  warm-hearted,  capricious,  wilful, 
and  passionate ;  capable  of  generosity,  but  equally  capable 
of  selfishness ;  the  creature  of  her  impulses,  whatever  they 
chanced  to  be.  She  and  Lucy  had  met  in  a  foreign  land, 
when  each  felt  isolated  and  lonely,  and  when  Lucy  was 
half  distracted  by  the  sudden  illness  of  her  grandfather. 
Mrs.  Lovell's  kind  heart  prompted  her  to  many  friendly 
offices,  which  won  the  young  girl's  liveliest  gratitude ;  and, 
in  return,  her  beauty  and  sweet,  innocent  nature  warmly 
attracted  the  elder  lady.  The  latter  had  then  just  lost  her 
only  child,  and  she  seemed  to  lavish  on  Lucy  some  measure 
of  the  affection  which  had  belonged  to  the  dead  little  one. 
Thus  a  friendship,  which  could  not  be  called  intimacy,  had 
begun  and  continued  between  them. 

Several  days  of  Mrs.  Lovell's  visit  passed  very  quietly. 
Fewer  guests  than  usual  came  to  interrupt  them ;  even 
Stafford  was  unseen  for  some  days,  having  gone  with  his 
host  —  the  Sandovals  had  long  since  left  Edgehill  —  on  an 
excursion  which  Mr.  Gore  had  been  planning  ever  since  his 
cousin's  arrival.  Burke,  too,  was  still  away ;  and  with  the 


336  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

exception  of  one  day,  when  they  dined  at  Colchester  with 
the  Fanshaws,  they  saw  no  one.  The  genial  influences  of 
the  house  seemed  to  have  the  most  favorable  effect  upon 
the  saddened  spirits  of  Mrs.  Lovell ;  and  she  really  made 
an  unusual  effort  to  repay  the  kindness  of  her  entertainers 
with  an  appearance  of  enjoyment.  All  the  pleasures  at 
their  command  were  drawn  on  for  her  amusement.  They 
rode,  drove,  and  walked ;  they  had  music,  and  books,  and 
fancy-work,  and  Captain  Fraser's  stories.  Mrs.  Lovell,  as 
I  have  said,  seemed  grateful  for  all  their  efforts  in  her  be- 
half; yet  it  could  be  seen  that  she  was  accustomed  to  take 
the  homage  of  those  about  her  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Lucy,  much  as  she  admired  and  warmly  as  she  loved  her 
beautiful  friend,  did  sometimes  find  herself  questioning 
whether  such  protracted  abandonment  to  sorrow  were  not 
a  form  of  self-indulgence  scarcely  consistent  with  one's 
duty  to  others,  and  wondering  whether  Mr.  Lovell,  whose 
adoring  affection  for  his  wife  she  well  knew,  was  quite 
satisfied  with  the  position  assigned  Kim  —  whether,  after 
all,  her  friend,  in  forgetting  the  living  in  her  sorrow  for 
the  dead,  had  not  missed  the  best  cure  which  sorrow 
can  find. 

Mrs.  Lovell  had  arrived  on  Monday  for  a  week's  stay. 
It  was  now  Friday,  and  she  had  received  a  note  from  her 
husband,  saying  that  he  would  be  in  Hillsboro'  Sunday 
evening,  and  that  they  must  leave  early  Monday  morning. 
It  was  afternoon,  and  she  and  Lucy  were  in  the  parlor 
together.  The  latter  was  at  the  piano,  which  stood  at  the 
end  of  the  room  farthest  from  the  door.  She  had  been 
playing  for  some  time,  such  soft,  sweet  airs  as  drop  into 
the  heart  and  bring  tears  into  the  eyes.  Mrs.  Lovell 


HILLSBORO'   FARMS.  337 

reclined  near  by  upon  a  sofa,  her  beautiful  head  supported 
by  her  hand,  listening  with  closed  eyes  to  the  music. 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  front  door,  and  Dolly  was 
heard  admitting  some  one ;  but  Lucy  played  on,  while  Mrs. 
Lovell  neither  changed  her  position  nor  opened  her  eyes. 
Presently  the  parlor  door  opened,  and  Lucy,  turning  on 
the  music-stool,  recognized  Stafford.  Her  eyes  expressed 
her  pleasure,  and  a  slight"  blush  tinged  her  cheek.  She 
rose,  but  he  was  the  first  to  speak,  coming  to  meet  her 
with  some  remark  upon  his  long  absence. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  Mrs.  Lovell  started  from  her 
recumbent  posture,  and  sat,  pale  and  with  hands  convul- 
sively clasped,  and  her  eyes  riveted  upon  his  face.  As  he 
took  Lucy's  offered  hand,  bowing  low  over  it,  a  faint  cry 
broke  from  her  lips,  and,  pronouncing  his  name  in  a  tone 
of  stifled  anguish,  she  sank  back  in  a  swoon. 

Stafford  and  Lucy  both  sprang  to  her  side,  and  the  lat- 
ter, raising  her  head  upon  her  arm,  pointed,  without  speak- 
ing, to  a  cologne  vase  that  stood  on  the  table.  Stafford 
brought  it,  and  deluged  her  handkerchief,  and  she  bathed 
the  still  face  before  her.  A  long  sigh  was  the  first  evidence 
of  returning  consciousness;  then  the  white  lids  began  to 
quiver,  and  Lucy  motioned  to  Stafford  to  stand  back  out 
of  sight.  He  obeyed,  and  she  leaned  over  her  friend,  and 
asked,  as  the  latter  opened  her  eyes,  — 

"  Do  you  feel  better  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Lucy ;  but  what  is  it?    Did  some  one  come  in  ? " 

She  raised  herself  as  she  spoke,  and  looked  about  the 
room.  Lucy  rose  also,  and  stood  irresolute.  Mrs.  Lovell 
turned  from  her,  and  her  eyes  met  Stafford's.  He  was 
very  pale,  and  there  wns  a  stern,  hard  look  about  his  lips. 


338  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

He  came  a  step  towards  her  with  some  confused  inquiry. 
She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  without  speaking;  but 
there  were  volumes  of  reproachful  tenderness  in  the  eyes 
she  raised  to  his  face.  "  Have  you  no  other  word  for  me  ?  " 
she  cried,  at  last,  dropping  her  head  upon  the  arm  of  the 
sofa,  and  bursting  into  tears. 

Lucy  made  a  movement  towards  the  door,  but  Stafford 
detained  her. 

"  Do  not  leave  the  room,  Miss  Fraser,"  he  said.  "  I  am 
the  one  who  should  go." 

"I  think,  indeed,  you  should,"  she  answered,  coldly. 

He  bowed  and  turned :  his  hand  was  on  the  door,  when 
Mrs.  Lovell  sprang  to  her  feet,  and,  crossing  the  room  has- 
tily, stood  before  him.  She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and, 
raising  her  beautiful  tearful  eyes  to  his  face,  exclaimed,  — 

"  Stafford,  do  not  kill  me !  You  have  broken  my  heart ; 
but  do  not  kill  me  with  your  coldness ! " 

As  she  spoke  her  head  fell  upon  his  breast.  Supporting 
her  trembling  form  with  his  arm,  he  led  her  back  to  the 
sofa.  "  Emma  —  Mrs.  Lovell,  for  God's  sake  compose  your- 
self!" he  exclaimed,  as  Lucy,  going  quickly  out,  closed  the 
door,  and  left  them  alone. 

She  was  pale,  and  felt  cold  and  stunned.  In  the  entry 
she  met  Hannah  Page,  who  had  entered  by  the  side  door. 

"  Do  not  go  in  there,"  she  said.  "Mother  is  in  her  own 
room,  I  think.  Excuse  me ;  I  have  to  go  up  stairs." 

Hannah  looked  after  her  cousin  as  she  went  slowly  up 
to  her  own  chamber.  She  was  astonished  at  the  face  Lucy 
had  turned  towards  her,  it  was  so  hard,  and  cold,  and 
white.  She  walked  into  the  sitting-room,  and  sat  down  by 
the  window  to  wait  for  her  aunt.  Stafford's  horse  and 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  339 

carriage  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  walk,  and  Figaro,  sitting 
•within,  held  the  reins.  The  boy  was  humming  a  lively 
tune;  the  soft  cushions  and  the  bright  sunshine  made  him 
happy.  Hannah  waited  what  seemed  to  her  a  long  time, 
and  then  Stafford  came  out  of  the  parlor.  She  caught  one 
glimpse  of  his  face  as  he  sprang  into  the  carriage ;  it  was 
pale  as  Lucy's  had  been.  He  took  the  reins  from  the  half- 
frightened  boy,  turned  his  horse  with  a  sharp,  quick  whirl, 
and  drove  rapidly  down  the  hill.  Hannah  could  see  the 
road  for  some  distance,  and  observed  the  furious  pace  at 
which  he  went.  She  waited  a  little  longer  in  the  hope  of 
seeing  some  one.  After  a  while  Lucy  came  down,  but  went 
at  once  into  the  parlor.  At  length  Hannah  managed  to 
find  one  of  the  domestics,  and,  learaing  that  her  aunt  was 
gone  out,  gave  up  her  errand  for  that  time,  and  went  home. 
But  the  circumstances  she  had  witnessed  did  not  pass  from 
her  memory. 

When  Lucy  reentered  the  parlor,  she  found  Mrs.  Lovell 
lying  on  the  sofa,  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  while  her 
frame  shook  with  frequent  sobs.  Lucy  drew  near,  and  laid 
her  hand  lightly  upon  her  friend's  head.  The  figure  was 
motionless  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  sobs  broke  forth 
afresh.  Lucy  let  the  tempest  of  her  grief  have  its  way, 
and  sat  silently  beside  her,  holding  her  hand.  By  degrees 
she  became  calmer,  and  at  length,  raising  her  head  and 
laying  it  on  Lucy's  shoulder,  she  said,  — 

"Dear  Lucy,  pity  me,  for  my  heart  is  broken." 

"  Courage  !  the  deepest  wound  will  heal,"  replied  Lucy, 
pressing  her  hand. 

"  No ;  this  will  never  heal.  It  bleeds  always,  and  will 
until  I  die.  O,  Lucy,  that  man  has  been  the  cause  of  the 


340  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

intensest  happiness,  the  sharpest  agony,  of  my  life.  He 
won  all  the  love  of  my  poor,  weak  heart,  and  then  flung  it 
away  as  you  might  a  yesterday's  flower,  leaving  me  the 
broken  creature  that  you  see.  You  wonder  I  do  not 
hate  him.  I  have  no  choice  —  I  must  love  him  and  for- 
give him.  It  kills  me  to  see  him,  and  yet  I  have  but  one 
thought  —  when  shall  I  see  him  again  ?  " 

"My  poor  friend,  you  will  see  him  no  more." 
"I  shall  —  I  must  —  he  will  come  to-morrow." 
"  But  remember,  dearest  Mrs.  Lovell ;  consider  your  hus- 
band, your  friends." 

"  I  have  considered  all  that.  In  my  life  everything  has 
been  considered  before  my  happiness.  Think  what  it  has 
offered !  Married,  when  a  child,  to  a  man  I  did  not  love 
—  ignorant  even  of  what  love  was ;  then  left  to  my  own 
guidance.  With  no  one  to  counsel  me,  with  none  of  your 
strength  of  character,  dear  Lucy,  what  wonder  that  my 
heart  went  before  I  was  aware?  O,  I  struggled  against 
the  madness  —  the  infatuation.  But  my  weakness  was 
quickly  punished.  When  he  knew  his  power  over  me, 
then  he  left  me.  When  my  heart  was  all  his,  he  did  not 
care  for  it.  O,  those  were  dreadful  days.  Then  my  child, 
my  Alice,  was  taken  from  me.  She  was  my  only  corn- 
fort.  I  have  shed  scalding  tears  over  her  innocent  sleep, 
while  I  prayed  Heaven  that  she  might  die  rather  than  live 
for  wretchedness  such  as  mine.  O,  Lucy,  my  mad  prayer 
was  answered !  I  lost  her  —  my  darling ! " 

The  poor  woman  paused  in  her  torrent  of  incoherent 
words,  checked  by  her  tears.  Lucy  tried  to  soothe,  to  com- 
fort her — reason  was  out  of  the  question.  At  last  she  per- 
suaded her  to  go  to  her  chamber,  and,  sitting  by  her  side 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  841 

as  she  lay  on  the  bed,  bathed  her  hot,  throbbing  temples, 
and  at  length  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  sink  into  a 
deep  sleep.  Then,  carefully  closing  the  blinds  to  exclude 
the  light,  she  withdrew  from  the  room,  and  sought  her 
own. 

She  sat  down  wearily,  as  if  exhausted,  her  hands  lying 
nerveless  in  her  lap.  A  long  time  she  sat  nearly  motion- 
less, gazing  out  over  the  sunny  fields.  What  she  thought 
of  it  is  difficult  to  tell,  —  probably  not  very  clearly  of  any- 
thing. She  had  been  inexpressibly  shocked  at  the  discov- 
ery of  her  friend's  fatal  weakness ;  but  that  was  really  little 
to  the  revelation  which  had  come  to  her  concerning  Staf- 
ford. She  saw  now  how  large  a  place  he  held  in  her 
regard,  now  that  he  could  hold  it  no  longer.  Of  all  les- 
sons, the  one  hardest  for  her  loyal  nature  to  learn  was  the 
lesson  of  distrust.  With  the  "believing  heart"  would  go 
from  her  half  the  happiness  of  life.  For  Mrs.  Lovell  she 
had  no  feeling  but  compassion.  She  saw  her  in  the  light 
of  a  deeply  injured  woman.  For  the  paltry  gratification 
of  his  vanity,  a  mere  wanton  delight  in  conquest,  he  had 
struck  a  death-blow  at  the  happiness  of  a  woman  he  pro- 
fessed to  love.  She  grew  hot  and  angry  as  she  thought 
of  it. 

Presently  Mrs.  Lovell's  words  about  seeing  him  again 
recurred  to  her  mind ;  and  though  she  did  not  believe  he 
would  attempt  such  a  thing,  her  resolution  was  quickly 
taken.  She  rose,  and,  going  to  the  little  desk  which  stood 
on  her  table,  sat  down  by  it,  and  wrote  with  a  firm  and 
rapid  hand.  She  made  no  reference  to  the  circumstances 
which  had  occurred,  or  to  her  own  feelings  or  opinions  in 
the  matter,  but  merely  expressed  a  hope  that  Mr.  Stafford 


342  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

would  see  the  manifest  propriety  of  absenting  himself  from 
Hillsboro'  for  the  present.  She  wrote  briefly  and  formally, 
in  a  tone  which  was  cold,  indeed,  but  expressed  no  anger 
or  displeasure,  and  without  one  superfluous  word.  She 
closed  her  note  at  once,  without  giving  herself  any  time  to 
change  her  mind,  and,  carrying  it  down  stairs,  despatched 
a  boy  with  it  to  Edgehill.  She  then  returned  to  the  apart- 
ment of  her  friend,  whom  she  found  suffering  from  head- 
ache and  nervous  prostration. 

That  night  and  all  the  next  day  Mrs.  Lovell  kept  her 
chamber.  She  w"anted  Lucy  near  her  constantly ;  but  the 
subject  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  both  was  not  again 
referred  to. 

As  the  next  day  wore  on,  Lucy  could  perceive  that  a 
feverish  hope  or  expectation  took  possession  of  her  friend. 
She  listened  for  every  sound,  and  watched  from  the  win- 
dow the  approach  of  every  person  to  the  house.  Lucy 
could  guess  her  feeling,  and  knew  that  it  would  be  disap- 
pointed. No  Stafford  appeared.  The  day  passed  quietly, 
as  it  had  begun ;  and  on  the  following,  towards  evening, 
Mr.  Lovell  arrived.  Mrs.  Lovell  was  in  the  parlor  to  re- 
ceive him,  gentle  and  graceful  as  usual ;  and  when  Mrs. 
Fraser  spoke  of  her  recent  illness,  she  smiled  at  his  con- 
cern, and  assured  him  that  it  was  nothing  serious  —  the 
effect  of  fatigue  merely. 

During  the  remainder  of  her  stay  she  maintained  the 
same  apparent  serenity.  Lucy  looked  on  astonished.  She 
could  not  comprehend  how  one  so  evidently  capable  of  self- 
control  should  so  fail  in  its  exercise  when  it  seemed  most 
called  for.  But  the  strain  put  upon  her  own  feelings  was  in- 
tense, and  she  was  glad  when  the  hour  of  departure  came. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  343 

Standing  on  the  doorstep,  she  waved  a  last  adieu  to  her 
friend  with  a  sensation  of  inexpressible  relief. 

But  when  the  carriage  disappeared,  she  went  back  into 
the  house  with  a  far  more  dreary  sense  of  loneliness  than 
she  had  felt,  weeks  before,  when  Mary  left  her.  Now, 
something  more  than  a  friend  was  gone  —  something 
which  could  not  be  replaced. 


344  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

RATHER  fortunately  for  Lucy,  the  next  day  brought  a 
swarm  of  visitoi's,  city  cousins  of  Mrs.  Eraser's,  come  to 
taste  the  pleasant  hospitalities  of  the  farm.  They  staid 
for  a  week;  and  the  necessity  of  making  an  effort  for 
others'  entertainment  withheld  her  thoughts  from  set- 
tling upon  the  painful  revelation  which  had  been  made 
to  her. 

Thus  occupied,  it  was  several  days  before  she  saw  any 
of  her  uncle's  family.  But  when  the  guests  were  gone, 
she  put  on  her  hat  and  walked  down  the  hill.  She  found 
Lydia  full  of  matter.  The  most  important  of  all  frocks 
was  in  process  of  completion,  and  Lucy's  taste  and  judg- 
ment had  to  be  taken  on  any  number  of  points  in 
relation  to  it.  Lucy  gave  various  hints  and  suggestions, 
aided  in  arranging  the  flowing  folds  of  delicate  muslin, 
and  admired  the  effect  to  her  cousin's  complete  satisfaction. 
It  was  natural  enough  that  the  discussion  of  the  dress 
should  suggest  the  thought  of  its  giver ;  but  Lucy  could 
not  help  a  slight  nervous  shock  at  the  sound  of  his  name. 
Hannah  was  used  to  reading  her  cousin's  face,  and  saw  a 
slight  change  pass  over  it  as  Lydia  asked,  — 

"  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Stafford  lately  ?  " 

"  Not  very  recently." 

"  When  was  he  at  your  house  last  ?  " 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  345 

"  Some  time  last  week ;  Friday,  I  believe." 
"  He  hasn't  been  here  for  more  than  a  week ;  and  yes- 
terday father  was  at  Edgehill  and  saw  Mr.  Gore.  Father 
was  asking  about  Mr.  Stafford,  and  Mr.  Gore  said  he  left 
his  house  last  Saturday  morning  for  New  York,  and  seemed 
surprised  that  we  didn't  know  of  it,  for  he  said  he  was 
down  here  the  day  before.  Did  he  speak  of  going  away 
while  he  was  at  your  house  ?  " 

"  Not  before  me :  but  I  saw  him  only  a  few  moments." 
"  It  is  strange  he  did  not  call  to  say  good  by  to  us,"  said 
Hannah,  looking  sharply  at  her  cousin,  who  had  spoken  in 
an  even,  quiet  tone,  but  whose  face  had  lost  a  shade  of 
color.  "  Mr.  Gore  said,"  she  continued,  "  that  he  had  a 
letter  from  him  yesterday.  He  was  just  ready  to  start  for 
India,  where  his  friend,  Mr.  Brainerd,  has  gone.  I  think 
he  might  have  called  a  moment  to  say  good  by.  It  seems 
strange  he  should  not." 

"  He  may  not  have  intended  leaving  when  he  was  here," 
suggested  Lucy,  indifferently,  and  immediately  began  to 
speak  of  something  else. 

So  Stafford  was  gone  —  was  probably  out  of  the  country 
ere  this.  Gone  to  find  in  the  pursuit  of  new  pleasures  and 
adventures  a  ready  forgetfulness  of  whatever  was  disagree- 
able in  the  sudden  termination  of  his  Edgehill  sojourn.  As 
Lucy  thought  of  the  past  summer,  of  all  its  gayety  and 
enjoyment,  so  suddenly  and  painfully  ended,  she  felt  sad 
and  unhappy.  She  had  come  back  so  glad  and  hopeful,  she 
had  begun  the  old  home  life  so  joyously ;  and  how  quickly 
it  had  brought  disappointment  and  sorrow !  Her  trust  had 
been  misplaced,  her  faith  shaken.  She  would  not  admit 
fully  her  position.  She  resolutely  looked  at  her  relations 


346  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

with  Stafford  in  the  light  of  friendship  only.  No  warmer  feel- 
ing, she  said  again  and  again,  had  entered  into  her  heart. 
But  for  all  that,  in  closing  the  chapter  of  this  summer's  life, 
in  seeing  it,  with  all  its  hopes,  and  plans,  and  pleasures,  glide 
into  the  irrecoverable  past,  she  was  conscious  of  a  great 
void  in  her  life.  She  did  not  allow  herself  to  look  into  it ; 
indeed,  she  resolutely  thought  of  something  else,  and  strove 
to  fill  it  with  an  active  interest  in  everything  around  her. 
And  if,  sometimes,  in  the  midst  of  her  many  avocations, 
she  was  conscious  of  an  uneasy  pain,  —  a  dull  longing  for 
something  dreamed  of,  but  not  found,  —  she  stilled  the 
hunger  as  best  she  could  with  the  dry  husks  of  philoso- 
phy. Of  course,  life  could  not  be  all  a  summer's  day.  Why 
should  she  expect  to  be  an  exception  to  the  general  rule  ? 
It  was  only  another  childish  illusion  gone.  Did  she  not 
know  already  that  in  this  world  people  could  not  afford 
credulously  to  cherish  illusions?  But  then,  after  all,  it 
would  be  pleasant  if  they  could. 


HILLSBORO'   FARMS.  347 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

SUMMER  was  gone,  and  autumn  was  trailing  his  imperial 
garments  over  the  hill-sides.  The  flowers  were  dying,  and 
the  low  wind  sighed  through  the  faded  gardens  and  rus- 
tled the  scattered  leaves.  From  the  elms  about  the  house 
had  vanished  the  flashing  oriole,  and  in  the  woods  the 
veery's  evening  song  was  hushed.  In  the  houses  now  wood 
fires  crackled  cheerfully  in  the  fireplaces  where  for  months 
had  stood  great  vases  filled  with  flowers  and  evergreens ; 
and  the  shortening,  darkening  days  drew  all  life  to  its 
domestic  centres. 

On  one  of  the  serenest  days  of  the  mellow  October  there 
was  a  cheerful  wedding  party  at  Mr.  Page's.  All  the  Fra- 
sers  were  there,  of  course,  and  a  great  throng  of  Ben's 
kindred,  and  Fanshaw  and  Mary  from  Colchester.  Lucy 
resisted  the  importunities  of  these  latter  friends  to  return 
home  with  them  after  the  festivities  were  over.  The  idea 
of  Colchester  was  strangely  distasteful  to  her  —  why,  she 
could  hardly  have  told.  When  strongly  urged,  she  pleaded 
unwillingness  to  leave  her  parents  at  present.  She  was 
going,  by  and  by,  to  Philadelphia  with  the  captain,  to  visit 
her  friends,  the  Flemings ;  and  two  lengthened  absences, 
she  said,  would  not  be  fair  to  those  at  home.  Besides,  she 
was  tired,  and  needed  rest. 

Mary  had  never  known  her  friend  to  be  tired  before ; 


348  HILLSBOEO'    FARMS. 

but  she  saw  that  Lucy  did  look  worn  and  pale.  However, 
though  compelled  to  relinquish  for  the  present  the  prose- 
cution of  her  plans  for  the  latter's  future,  she  congratulated 
herself  that  the  only  man  who  could  prove  in  any  way  a 
dangerous  rival  to  Burke  was  far  away,  and  apparently 
forgotten. 

So  Lucy  staid  quietly  at  home  for  some  time  longer  yet. 
It  was  not  till  after  Thanksgiving  time,  when  the  winter 
had  fairly  set  in,  that  she  and  her  grandfather  departed  on 
their  projected  visit.  They  had  proposed  to  be  absent  a 
few  weeks  only ;  but  their  stay  was  continually  prolonged ; 
and  when  at  last  the  captain  insisted  that  he  must  be  gone, 
their  friends  brought  forward  so  many  reasons  why  Lucy 
should  remain  longer,  that  she  yielded  to  persuasion,  and 
allowed  her  grandfather  to  return  home  without  her. 

Lucy  had  never  seen  much  of  the  fashionable  life  of 
cities.  Its  novelty  diverted  her;  and  in  the  brilliant  social 
circle,  in  which  she  speedily  became  the  object  of  much 
admiration,  there  was  always  something  to  interest  and 
turn  her  thoughts  from  herself.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life  she  felt  the  thirst  for  excitement  and  change.  A  strange 
restlessness  possessed  her,  and  drove  her  from  one  scene  of 
gayety  to  another  with  little  cessation.  She  wrote  home 
that  she  was  very  happy,  and  she  told  herself,  over  and 
over  again,  that  it  was  so.  It  was  new  for  her  to  need  to 
give  herself  such  assurances. 

The  weeks  lengthened  into  months,  and  still  she  lingered 
with  the  Flemings,  averse  to  face  the  monotony  and  the 
frequent  solitude  of  Hillsboro'.  But  at  length  the  home 
circle  grew  impatient  and  imperative ;  and  in  one  of  the 
late  days  of  February  she  finally  took  leave  of  her  friends, 


HILLSBUBO'    FARMS.  349 

and  turned  her  face  northward.  Horace  Fleming  accom- 
panied her  as  far  as  New  York,  but  was  prevented  by  busi- 
ness from  making  the  whole  journey.  He  even  attended 
her  a  few  miles  beyond  the  city,  to  a  station  where  he  could 
catch  a  return  train,  and  then  left  her  to  proceed  on  her 
journey  alone. 

She  felt  lonely  and  uncomfortable  for  a  little  while,  but 
soon  became  interested  in  the  pages  of  a  book  which  Hor- 
ace had  given  her  to  beguile  the  way.  Thus  occupied,  she 
did  not  observe  the  persons  entering  or  leaving  the  car, 
until  she  was  roused  by  hearing  her  own  name  pronounced 
by  some  one  quite  near.  She  looked  up  hastily,  and  recog- 
nized Mr.  Lovell.  She  greeted  him  with  surprise  and 
pleasure ;  and,  as  he  took  the  vacant  seat  at  her  side,  she 
hastened  to  inquire  for  his  wife.  His  face  grew  grave  at 
once. 

Mrs.  Lovell's  health,  he  said,  had  for  some  time  seemed 
to  be  breaking,  and  physicians  gave  very  discouraging  re- 
ports. She  had  taken  a  violent  cold  about  Christmas  time, 
which  had  settled  upon  her  lungs,  and  been  attended  by 
severe  hemorrhage,  and  he  dreaded  the  worst  results. 

Lucy  was  deeply  shocked  and  pained  at  this  report ;  and 
the  profound  dejection  with  which  Mr.  Lovell  spoke  of 
his  wife  moved  her  compassion.  She  had  always  hitherto 
found  him  a  reserved  and  somewhat  formal  man,  and  she 
was  unprepared  for  the  evidences  of  deep  and  strong  feel- 
ing which  made  themselves  apparent  as  he  told  of  his 
anxieties  and  fears.  She  tried  to  think  that  he  must  have 
overrated  the  danger.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  he  rose  to 
leave  the  car;  and  as  she  pressed  his  hand  at  parting,  she 
expressed  with  earnestness  and  sincerity  her  sympathy,  and 


350  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

her  hope  that  the  future  would  prove  better  than  his  fears. 
He  could  only  look  the  gratitude  he  felt,  not  trusting  his 
voice  with  words. 

It  was  long  before  Lucy  could  return  to  her  book.  Her 
mind  was  filled  with  thoughts  awakened  by  the  recent 
interview,  and  many  things  came  back  to  her  which  it  bad 
been  the  labor  of  the  last  few  months  to  forget.  Her 
heart  ached  for  Mr.  Lovell  in  his  present  anxiety,  and  for 
the  grief  which,  notwithstanding  her  encouraging  woi'ds, 
she  felt  sure  was  coming  fast  upon  him.  For  Mrs.  Lovell 
she  knew  that  life  had  been  a  failure,  and  that  death  would 
be  welcome.  Of  Stafford  she  would  not  think.  As  in 
families  there  are  nearly  always  subjects  of  which  it  is  for- 
bidden to  speak,  so  in  every  human  heart  there  lie  mem- 
ories, not  dead,  but  buried,  covered  out  of  sight,  never 
spoken  of  or  looked  at.  Stafford  to  Lucy  had  become  one 
of  these.  She  could  not  at  once,  by  an  effort  of  her  will, 
forget  him ;  so,  in  the  darkest  and  remotest  recess  of  her 
consciousness  she  put  the  memory,  and  trusted  to  time  to 
do  the  rest. 

The  remainder  of  her  journey  was  accomplished  without 
incident.  At  Kiffton  she  was  met  by  her  grandfather ;  and 
in  his  eager,  boisterous  welcome,  and  flood  of  home  news 
and  talk,  the  recent  painful  impression  was  somewhat  dis- 
sipated. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  351 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

spring  was  cold,  and  late,  and  disagreeable,  as  only 
a  New  England  spring  can  be.  What  with  the  raw  east 
winds  and  the  muddy  roads,  out-door  life  had  few  attrac- 
tions, and  Lucy  went  but  little  abroad.  Only  occasionally 
she  found  her  way  to  Hannah's  always  cheerful  fireside,  or 
to  the  pretty  new  house  over  the  hill,  where  Lydia's  ma- 
tronly graces  were  daily  more  and  more  unfolding.  But 
the  larger  portion  of  her  time  was  passed  at  home,  where 
she  was,  in  truth,  the  centre  of  every  one's  happiness,  the 
object  of  a  kind  of  idolatry  that  would  surely  have  spoiled 
a  nature  less  simple  and  true. 

About  the  middle  of  April,  while  yet  the  winds  were 
raw  and  the  sun  showed  little  power  in  rousing  the  grow- 
ing year  from  its  sleep,  Fanshaw  came  to  Hillsboro',  armed 
with  authority  from  Mary  to  bring  Lucy  with  him  to  Col- 
chester in  the  face  of  all  opposition.  With  some  little  dif- 
ficulty he  won  the  family  consent  to  a  few  weeks'  absence, 
and  bore  his  prize  away  in  triumph. 

Lucy  had  not  allowed  herself  to  feel  really  depressed  by 
the  dulness  of  Hillsboro'  after  her  winter  gayeties ;  but  she 
was  surprised  to  find  what  an  agreeable  relief  was  afforded 
by  the  more  varied  life  with  her  Colchester  friends.  Mary 
had  that  happy  art  of  society  which  is  born  with  some 
women,  and  which  would  enable  them  to  make  a  hovel 


352  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

attractive  as  long  as  they  reigned  in  it.  It  is  not,  there- 
fore, surprising  that  her  house  was  one  of  the  most  eagerly 
sought  by  whatever  was  desirable  in  the  large  town  of 
Colchester.  Lucy  found  herself  in  the  midst  of  a  circle 
which,  if  less  fashionable  and  brilliant,  was  not  less  culti- 
vated or  intelligent  than  that  in  which  she  had  mingled  at 
Mrs.  Fleming's.  Naturally  she  saw  a  good  deal  of  Burke, 
who  was  now  Fanshaw's  partner,  and  who  had  always 
been  a  constant  visitor  at  the  house.  She  met  him  with  a 
great  deal  of  pleasure,  taking  up  the  thread  of  her  friend- 
ship with  him  apparently  just  where  it  had  dropped  las\ 
year.  With  Burke,  if  it  was  not  the  same,  it  was  because  ht 
was  more  in  love  than  ever.  He  fairly  haunted  the  house, 
often  dropping  in  in  the  morning,  on  his  way  to  the  office, 
with  some  transparently  trivial  pretence  of  an  errand ;  and 
the  evening  was  sure  to  bring  him.  He  brought  books, 
and  read  aloud  to  the  friends  as  they  sat  at  their  needle- 
work, or  music,  which  Lucy  sang  to  him  in  the  soft  spring 
twilights,  while  he  held  his  breath  to  hear;  and  he  was 
often  their  escort  when  they  went  out.  Lucy  had  alwayp 
liked  him,  and  this  pleasant  intercourse  was  daily  strength- 
ening her  regard.  Her  feelings  towards  him  were  reallj 
approaching  that  state  when,  if  no  disturbance  occurred, 
they  might  readily  crystallize  into  a  positive  form  —  might 
grow  and  gather  into  a  steady  and  true  affection.  Bm 
such  was  certainly  not,  as  yet,  their  nature. 

Mary  watched  the  progress  of  their  intimacy  with  atten- 
tive eyes.  Still,  however  much  she  desired  a  connection 
between  these  two  friends,  she  would  not  manage  to  bring 
it  about.  She  gave  them  every  opportunity  to  advance 
their  own  interest,  but  carefully  abstained  from  the  most 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  353 

thankless  of  all  friendly  offices  —  match-making.  She  was 
fully  in  Burke's  confidence,  for  he  had  opened  his  heart  to 
her,  and  she  had  assured  him  of  her  strong  faith  in  his  ulti- 
mate success,  if  he  had  patience  and  perseverance.  He 
must  not  seek  to  hurry  matters.  She  believed  Lucy  to  be 
too  contented  with  her  present  situation,  too  happy  in  her 
home  after  long  absence  from  it,  to  be  easily  induced  to 
leave  it.  But  she  assured  him,  to  her  best  belief,  that  he 
had  no  rival.  Upon  this  point  Mary  spoke  quite  confi- 
dently. There  had  never  been  but  one,  she  said,  whom 
she  had  feared;  and  now  she  was  quite  convinced  that 
Lucy  had  never  cared  for  him.  With  time  and  patience, 
she  was  sure  all  would  go  well. 

Buvke  resolved  to  be  governed  by  this  advice;  but  in 
a  moment  of  indiscretion,  when  returning  one  evening 
from  a  small  party,  walking  with  Lucy  slowly  down  the 
moonlit  street,  he  forgot  Mary  and  her  cautions,  and  ven- 
tured to  press  the  suit  which  lay  so  near  his  heart.  As 
Mary  had  predicted,  Lucy  shrank  from  the  subject.  It  was 
one  she  did  not  wish  to  hear  about.  He  could  hardly  feel 
his  offer  rejected,  for  he  had  not  been  allowed  to  make 
one.  She  neither  refused  nor  encouraged  ;  she  only 
silenced  him.  There  was  nothing  in  her  words  to  lead 
him  to  hope  she  would  ever  listen  to  him ;  yet  there  was 
nothing  to  exclude  that  hope.  He  had  not  gained  a  single 
step  in  advance ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  did  not  feel 
that  he  had  lost  anything.  It  was  plainly  not  on  any 
ground  of  personal  objection  to  himself  that  Lucy  had 
silenced  his  avowal,  but  from  a  repugnance  to  the  whole 
subject  involved.  He  stood,  then,  precisely  where  he  did 
before,  unless  he  might  indulge  the  hope  that  the  con- 
23 


354  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

sciousness  of  bis  sentiments  established  in  Lucy's  mind 
might,  as  the  thought  grew  familiar  to  her,  work  for  him  a 
favorable  change.  When,  in  bidding  him  good  night  at 
the  door,  she  gave  him  her  hand  with  all  her  accustomed 
cordial  frankness,  he  felt  sure  that  he  had,  at  least,  not 
offended,  and  left  with  a  still  hopeful  spirit.  Mary  had 
been  right  so  far ;  might  she  not  also  be  correct  in  the  rest 
of  her  encouraging  prediction  ? 

Mary  was  alone  in  her  parlor  when  Lucy  entered,  and 
she  immediately  handed  to  her  friend  several  letters  which 
had  arrived  during  her  absence.  Lucy  put  them  in  her 
belt,  and  stood  holding  her  bonnet  by  the  strings,  and 
talking  over  the  little  incidents  of  the  party  at  which  she 
had  been.  Presently  Fanshaw  came  in ;  and  soon  after  she 
bade  them  both  good  night,  and  went  up  to  her  own  room. 
She  drew  back  the  curtain,  and,  sitting  down  by  the  win- 
dow, through  which  poured  a  flood  of  mellow  moonlight, 
she  remained  for  some  time,  looking  dreamily  out  into  the 
still  garden  below.  She  was  thinking  of  Burke  —  kindly, 
pleasantly,  yet  with  a  shade  of  regret.  She  wished  he  had 
not  spoken  the  words  she  had  just  heard.  She  would  have 
liked  far  better  that  their  friendship  should  flow  on  in  the 
same  quiet  channel  which  had  thus  far  held  it.  She  was 
quite  content  with  things  as  they  were  ;  and  she  had  come 
to  feel  a  sort  of  dread  of  the  approach  of  life's  more  tumultu- 
ous and  absorbing  emotions. 

At  length  she  remembered  her  letters,  and,  lighting  her 
lamp,  she  closed  the  curtains,  and  sat  down  to  read  them. 
One  was  from  Horace  Fleming,  gay  and  lively  as  usual, 
and  soon  disposed  of.  The  next  bore  her  father's  super-' 
scription ;  and,  as  she  took  it  up,  she  wondered  a  little  at 


HILfaSBORO'    FARMS.  355 

its  unusual  bulk.  Oil  breaking  the  seal,  she  found  only  a 
few  lines  from  her  father,  and  a  heavy  enclosure  directed 
to  herself  at  Hillsboro',  and  bearing  the  New  York  post- 
mark. Opening  this,  she  was  shocked  to  find  a  short  note 
from  Mr.  Lovell,  announcing  his  wife's  death,  and  inform- 
ing her  that  the  letter  accompanying  his  was  written  by 
Mrs.  Lovell  a  week  or  two  before  her  departure,  and  given 
to  him  with  the  injunction  to  forward  it  to  Lucy  after  her 
funeral.  Mr.  Lovell  recounted  in  few  words  to  Lucy  the 
circumstances  attending  his  wife's  last  hours,  and  spoke  of 
her  with  the  settled  grief  of  a  broken-hearted  man. 

After  she  had  finished  reading  this  letter,  Lucy  waited 
some  minutes  before  she  could  summon  courage  to  take  up 
the  other ;  and  her  usually  steady  hand  trembled  as  she 
tore  off  the  envelope.  It  was  long — too  long  to  be  given 
in  full  here.  After  speaking  of  her  situation,  of  the  near 
approach  of  death,  and  of  her  willingness  to  meet  it,  Mrs. 
Lovell  alluded  to  her  husband,  and  spoke  with  grateful 
feeling  of  his  affectionate  devotion,  and  with  regret  that  in 
the  years  of  their  married  life  she  had  so  little  appreciated 
his  kind  and  noble  heart.  She  dwelt  more  briefly,  but 
with  earnestness,  on  the  affection  she  had  always  felt  for 
Lucy,  and  added,  — 

"  I  come  now,  dear  Lucy,  to  my  object  in  writing  this 
letter.  Looking  back,  as  I  now  do,  from  the  threshold  of 
another  world  upon  my  past  life,  many  things  appear  to 
me  in  a  different  light  from  that  in  which  I  once  viewred 
them.  Seeing  this  myself,  I  wish  to  know  them  righted, 
also,  in  your  dear  eyes.  It  is  with  the  deepest  pain  that  I 
refer  to  my  visit  to  Hillsboro',  and  recall  to  your  memory 
the  unhappy  events  which  then  took  place.  It  is  from  the 


356  HILLSBOBO'    FARMS. 

apprehension  that  in  the  resentful  agony  of  that  time  I 
may  have  given  impressions  and  uttered  words  which,  in 
calmer  moments,  I  should  have  wished  unspoken  and 
known  to  be  unjust.  I  cannot  endure  to  think  you  unjust 
to  him  or  to  me.  The  deep  love  which,  in  spite  of  all  my 
struggles,  still  lives  in  my  heart,  and  must  so  long  as  it 
beats,  compels  me,  with  a  tender  jealousy  for  its  object,  to 
defend  him  against  the  mad,  vehement  accusations  which 
I  made  in  my  bitter  anger.  I  can  now  see  how  much,  in 
all  my  unhappiness,  I  have  myself  alone  to  blame.  I  ac- 
cused him  to  you  of  wanton  cruelty  —  of  intentional  tri- 
fling. I  now  believe  him  to  have  been,  from  the  outset, 
thoughtless  only ;  and  O,  Lucy,  it  is  with  a  pang  which 
even  now  I  cannot  repress,  that  I  admit  the  truth  —  he 
never  loved  me  as  I  loved  him.  The  emotion,  with  him, 
was  transient  only ;  with  m,e,  it  was  life-long.  I  cannot 
blame  him.  I  should  have  been  the  first  to  see  the  danger. 
In  my  blindness  I  would  not  see  that  our  positions  were 
so  different.  What  to  me  was  life  and  breath,  must  be 
brief  and  passing  with  him,  and  end  as  lightly  as  it  began. 
For  this  was  the  result.  When  I  saw  him  again,  his  short- 
lived fancy  was  dead  ;  and,  secure  in  your  indifference,  I 
may  add,  another  and  a  stronger  love  had  supplanted  it. 
Even  if  I  had  not  read  it  in  his  face,  whose  every  change  I 
knew,  his  own  lips  confessed  it  to  me.  Yes,  Lucy ;  the 
heart  I  had  thought  my  own  was  all,  all  yours.  What  I 
suffered  I  can  never  tell  you.  There  had  been  a  pleasure  — 
selfish,  I  admit,  but  still  a  pleasure  —  in  believing  him  as 
unhappy  as  myself;  but  when  I  learned  that  I  was  forgot- 
ten, when  I  plainly  saw  that  all  the  past  had  left  no  ripple 
on  the  surface  of  his  life,  then,  instead  of  gratitude  that 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  357 

he  was  spared  what  I  suffered,  I  felt  only  burning  anger ; 
and  I  believe  if  I  had  not  seen  so  plainly  that  you  enter- 
tained for  him  no  feeling  beyond  that  of  friendship,  my 
auger  would  have  included  you.  But,  as  it  was,  your 
words  fell  like  balm  on  my  poor  wounded  heart.  What 
little  strength  I  have  gained  since  then,  I  feel  I  owe  to 
you." 

There  was  more  of  the  letter,  but  it  is  not  necessary  to 
repeat  it  here.  Lucy  read  it  steadily  to  the  end ;  and, 
when  it  was  finished,  she  sat  for  a  long  time  lost  in  deep 
thought.  Sorrow  at  the  loss  of  her  friend  was  overborne 
by  the  knowledge  how  welcome  had  been  the  summons 
which  called  her.  She  had  lacked  the  wisdom  —  or  the 
will  —  to  govern  her  life,  and  so  it  had  made  shipwreck. 
But  she  was  gone  —  let  her  mistakes  sleep  with  her. 
Lucy's  general  impression  of  the  whole  unhappy  affair 
referred  to  was  unchanged.  The  letter,  it  is  true,  freed 
Stafford  from  the  accusation  of  deliberate  treachery ;  but 
it  left  him  charged  with  a  levity  and  reckless  indifference 
to  the  feelings  of  others  almost  equally  culpable.  It 
proved,  at  least,  however,  the  reality  of  the  sentiment  he 
had  seemed  to  cherish  for  herself.  Lucy  was  astonished  at 
the  thrill  of  pleasure  which  awoke  in  her  at  the  assurance 
that  this  man,  whom  she  was  even  now  condemning,  had 
indeed  loved  her.  Surely  it  mattered  nothing  to  her  what 
his  feeling  had  been.  She  put  the  thought  away  quickly 
—  hid  it  out  of  sight. 

It  was  late  when  she  sought  her  pillow,  and  then  sleep 
refused  to  come  to  her.  Hour  after  hour  she  lay  with 
strained,  wide-open  eyes,  revolving  in  her  mind  all  the 
tangled  skein  of  events,  all  the  conflicting  thoughts  and 


358  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

feelings  re-awakened  by  this  letter ;  and  it  was  not  until 
the  morning  was  bright  in  the  sky  that  she  fell  into  her 
first  unquiet  slumber.  When,  at  a  late  hour  next  morning, 
Mary,  surprised  at  her  friend's  non-appearance,  came  into 
Lucy's  chamber,  she  found  her  sleeping ;  but  her  face  was 
pale,  and  her  eyelids  swollen,  and  there  was  an  expression 
of  pain  on  her  face  which  alarmed  Mary. 

As  she  bent  over  her,  Lucy  awoke,  and,  in  answer  to  her 
anxious  inquiries,  replied  that  she  had  slept  ill,  and  com- 
municated the  sad  intelligence  her  letters  had  contained. 
Mary  was  full  of  sympathy  and  concern ;  and  Lucy's  pale- 
ness and  her  clouded  spirits  for  some  days  were  readily 
enough  attributed  to  grief  for  the  loss  of  her  dead  friend. 

In  the  course  of  the  ensuing  week  she  returned  to  Hills- 
boro'. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  359 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

I  PASS  over  an  interval  of  several  months.  The  sum- 
mer had  come  and  gone  with  no  incident  of  importance. 
The  Flemings  had  made  a  long  visit  to  Hillsboro',  and 
Burke  still  came  and  went  at  frequent  intervals,  sometimes 
with  a  hopeful  heart,  sometimes  despondent. 

The  autumn  was  now  fast  fading.  It  was  a  day  late  in 
November,  about  the  season  when  this  story  opened  five 
years  before.  The  sky  was  thickly  overcast.  The  day  was 
warm,  unseasonably  so,  close  and  oppressive,  in  spite  of  a 
strong  southerly  wind,  which  had  been  blowing  since  morn- 
ing. Indeed,  this  wind  rather  increased  than  diminished 
the  sense  of  suffocation ;  it  came  hot,  like  the  blast  of  a 
furnace. 

A  dreary,  ominous  day  it  seemed  to  Lucy  Fraser.  The 
air,  to  her  fancy,  was  full  of  foreboding  and  dread.  The 
dull,  leaden  sky,  the  rushing  wind,  filled  her  with  vague, 
undefined  fears.  All  day  long  her  mind  had  been  haunt- 
ed by  such  fancies  —  a  sense  of  something  coming  — 
coming  —  coming.  She  fought  against  the  feeling ;  she 
called  it  absurd ;  but  she  could  not  shake  it  off.  She  sat 
by  the  parlor  window  that  looked  up  into  the  orchard,  and 
tried  to  sew.  She  was,  except  for  the  domestics,  alone  in 
the  house.  Her  father  and  mother  had  left  the  day  pre- 
vious on  a  visit  to  some  relatives  in  a  distant  part  of  the 


360  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

state,  and  the  captain  was  at  Colchester.  Lucy  wished 
them  all  at  home,  that  she  might  know  them  safe.  The 
next  moment  she  smiled  at  her  own  uneasiness,  and  tried 
to  think  of  the  work  with  which  she  was  occupying  her 
hands.  Soon,  finding  it  impossible  to  fix  her  thoughts 
upon  that,  she  threw  it  aside,  and  went  to  the  piano.  Be- 
fore she  was  aware,  she  found  herself  playing  a  funeral 
march.  She  precipitately  left  the  instrument,  and  turned 
over  the  books  on  the  table. 

Nothing  there  pleased  her,  and  she  went  up  to  her  own 
room  to  find  something  more  to  her  taste.  From  the  up- 
per shelf  of  her  little  book-case  she  took  a  volume  at  ran- 
dom and  opened  it.  It  was  the  "  Jerusalem  Delivered," 
and  between  its  leaves  lay  the  bit  of  honeysuckle  with 
which  Stafford  had  marked  the  place  on  that  Sunday  after- 
noon, so  long  ago,  when  he  had  read  to  her  from  its  pages. 
She  had  never  opened  the  book  from  that  day  to  this. 
Now  she  flung  it  violently  from  her  on  the  floor,  and  left 
the  chamber. 

The  loneliness  of  the  house  grew  at  last  insupportable ; 
and  she  put  on  her  shawl  and  bonnet,  determined  to  spend 
the  remainder  of  the  day  with  Lydia.  Leaving  word  with 
Dolly  where  she  might  be  found,  in  case  any  one  came, 
she  closed  the  hall  door  behind  her,  and  set  out  for  her 
cousin's  house. 

As  Lucy  walked  along  over  the  dead,  rustling  leaves  that 
strewed  the  road-side,  her  lithe  young  figure  breasting 
firmly  the  strong  wind,  she  formed  the  one  brilliant  point 
of  life  and  color  in  all  the  wide,  dull  landscape.  She  wore 
a  gown  of  dark,  rich  silk,  which  was  blown  in  heavy  folds 
about  her.  Her  shawl  was  of  the  gay-colored  plaid  she 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  361 

was  so  fond  of  wearing,  and  her  plain  straw  bonnet  was 
brightened  with  a  profusion  of  dark-blue  ribbons.  There 
was  a  warm,  clearly-defined  color  in  her  cheek,  and  her 
eyes  were  bright  with  the  spirit  which  opposed  itself  so 
unyieldingly  to  the  wild  wind. 

The  neat,  white-painted  house,  with  its  dormer  windows 
and  smart  green  blinds,  was  soon  reached.  Passing  through 
the  little  front  yard,  where  Lydia's  flower  borders  were 
now  stripped  of  their  summer  glories,  she  laid  her  hand 
on  the  door,  and,  to  her  disappointment,  found  it  locked. 
To  her  repeated  knockings  no  answer  was  returned  ;  and 
on  inquiring  of  a  tow-headed  boy  at  work  in  the  garden, 
she  learned  that  the  mistress  of  the  house  had  gone  to 
spend  the  rest  of  the  day  at  her  father's.  At  first  Lucy 
thought  she  would  go  there,  too;  but,  recollecting  that 
Hannah  had  a  tea-drinking  of  some  neighbors  that  day, 
she  changed  her  mind.  She  stood  irresolute  for  some 
minutes,  hardly  knowing  whither  to  direct  her  steps.  The 
idea  of  going  home  was  wholly  distasteful.  She  looked 
up  and  down  the  road,  and  across  the  brown  fields.  The 
only  signs  of  life  she  could  see  were  some  cattle  on  the 
remote  hill-side,  and  a  solitary  horse  and  wagon  approach- 
ing along  the  Edgehill  road.  Still  uncertain,  a  crow,  wing- 
ing its  lazy  flight  over  some  distant  woods,  caught  her  eye, 
and  decided  her. 

"  I  will  go  to  Beech  Hill,"  she  said,  aloud.  "  It  is  years 
since  I  have  been  there;  and  this  wind  will  be  grand 
among  the  trees." 

Acting  upon  this  impulse,  she  left  her  place  upon  the 
doorstep  and  turned  in  the  direction  of  Beech  Hill.  Her 
way  took  her  for  some  distance  along  the  high  road  over 


362  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

which  she  had  just  passed,  then,  turning  to  the  left,  led 
away  over  the  farms.  Walking  rather  slowly  now,  plunged 
in  deep  thought,  she  paid  no  attention  to  the  wagon  which 
was  rapidly  approaching  her  from  behind.  It  would  have 
passed  her  unnoticed,  but,  just  as  it  came  opposite  her  in 
the  road,  the  driver  checked  his  horse  and  turned  to  ad- 
dress her.  She  saw  that  he  was  a  stranger,  and  the  dasher 
of  his  wagon,  covered  with  fresh  and  various-hued  mud, 
showed  that  he  had  come  some  distance.  He  was  a  pleas- 
ant-looking man,  not  very  young,  and  having  the  air  whicli, 
for  want  of  a  better  term,  we  .call  "  distinguished."  So 
much  Lucy's  observant  eye  took  in  at  a  glance,  as,  lifting 
his  hat,  with  a  respectful  bow,  he  asked,  — 

"  Can  you  direct  me,  madam,  to  the  house  of  a  Mr.  Page, 
who  lives,  I  think,  in  this  neighborhood  ?  " 

"  You  are  very  near  it  now,  sir ;  the  first  house  over  the 
brow  of  the  hill.  It  stands  to  the  left." 

"  Thank  you." 

The  stranger's  eyes  were  scanning  her  face  with  a  sin- 
gularly earnest  scrutiny,  which  yet  had  in  it  nothing  of 
rudeness.  He  seemed  almost  on  the  point  of  speaking  again, 
but  checked  himself,  bowed  once  more,  loosened  his  rein, 
and  drove  on. 

Lucy  looked  after  him,  wondering  a  little  who  he  could 
be,  and  what  was  his  errand  at  her  uncle's.  Where  had 
she  seen  that  face  before  ?  Had  she  ever  seen  it  ?  It  was 
not  recognition,  nor  simply  inquiry,  which  had  looked  at 
her  out  of  those  grave  eyes;  but  what  was  it?  She  could 
not  tell ;  but  more  than  once,  as  she  pursued  her  walk,  her 
mind  reverted  to  the  stranger,  the  look  with  which  he  had 
regarded  her,  and  his  possible  errand.  She  grew,  at  last, 


HILLSBORO'    FAUMS.  363 

annoyed  with  herself  for  recurring  so  often  to  the  matter, 
and  wondered  if  her  life  had  grown  so  barren  of  incident 
that  the  chance  meeting  with  a  stranger  on  the  highway 
should  have  power  to  disturb  her  fancy  for  hours  after. 

She  spent  most  of  the  afternoon  upon  the  windy  hill, 
among  the  beeches.  For  a  time  she  succeeded  in  thrusting 
her  sombre  thoughts  from  her;  but  it  was  only  that  they 
might  return  with  renewed  force  at  a  later  period.  She 
hud  grown  tired  of  wandering  through  the  wood,  and 
weary  of  contending  with  the  cloud  of  thick-coming  and 
gloomy  fancies  that  assailed  her.  She  came  to  a  spot  where 
a  broad  gray  rock,  near  the  edge  of  the  forest,  marked  the 
scene  of  many  a  childish  rendezvous ;  and,  sinking  down 
upon  the  stone,  and  leaning  her  head  upon  her  arm,  sur- 
rendered herself  to  the  tide  of  mournful  and  despondent 
emotions  that  was  sweeping  over  her.  The  wind  hissed 
in  the  withered  grass  and  herbage,  and  roared  in  the 
branches  of  the  great  trees  above  her  head.  It  whirled 
the  dead  leaves  about  her,  and  wildly  fluttered  her  own 
dress;  but  she  paid  little  heed  to  anything. 

She  sat  a  long,  long  time ;  and  it  was  only  when  she 
saw  the  twilight  approaching  that  she  remembered  it  was 
time  to  return.  She  rose  with  an  effort,  shivering  a  little, 
though  hardly  with  cold,  and,  with  a  listless,  languid  step, 
and  an  air  of  sad  abstraction,  took  her  way  towards  home. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  she  reached  the  house.  She 
walked  for  some  minutes  up  and  down  under  the  elms 
before  the  door,  unable  to  bring  herself  to  enter,  so  lonely 
and  silent  seemed  the  great  empty  rooms.  But  this  could 
not  last ;  and  suddenly,  with  an  impatient  comment  on  her 
unusual  nervousness,  she  turned  and  went  quickly  up  the 
steps  and  into  the  hall. 


364  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

At  the  foot  of  the  staircase  she  was  met  by  Dolly,  who 
held  a  small  package  wrapped  carefully  in  white  paper. 
Heman  Page,  the  girl  said,  had  left  it  an  hour  before, 
with  the  message  that  Hannah  was  busy,  but  would  come 
up  to  her  in  the  evening.  Lucy  took  the  parcel  carelessly, 
and  to  the  girl's  announcement  that  tea  was  waiting,  re- 
plied that  she  wanted  no  supper  then,  she  would  wait  till 
Hannah  came,  and  went  wearily  up  to  her  own  room. 

For  some  minutes  she  moved  slowly  about,  putting 
away  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  endeavoring  to  occupy 
herself  with  something.  After  a  time  she  took  from  the 
table,  where,  on  first  entering,  she  had  laid  it,  the  package 
Dolly  had  given  her.  A  languid  curiosity  prompted  her 
to  sit  down  by  the  window  and  examine  its  contents,  which 
there  was  still  sufficient  light  in  the  room  for  her  to  do 
without  difficulty.  Tearing  off  the  outer  wrapper,  she 
found  two  smaller  packages,  carefully  sealed,  with  what 
seemed  an  explanation  of  their  contents  written  on  the 
outside.  The  handwriting  was  strange  to  her,  but  perfectly 
legible. 

On  the  first  package  was  written,  — 

"  Articles  belonging  to  George  Wycombe  Stafford,  to  be 
forwarded  to  Francis  Brainerd,  Esq.,  Calcutta ; "  and  on 
the  other,  "  Leaves  from  the  note-book  of  Edward  Lynch, 
containing  certain  instructions  and  dying  wishes  of  George 
Stafford,  also  to  be  forwarded  to  Francis  Brainerd." 

As  Lucy  read  these  words,  an  icy  chill  crept  over  her ; 
the  blood  slowly  receded  from  her  face,  and  seemed  to 
freeze  about  her  heart.  With  a  quiet  that  was  dreadful  to 
see,  she  proceeded  to  break  the  seal  and  draw  forth  the 
enclosure.  In  the  awful  sense  of  oppression  and  cold  ter- 


HILLSBORO'    FA11MS.  365 

rof  of  what  was  to  come  that  was  upon  her,  it  did  not 
occur  to  her  to  wonder  how  this  package  should  have  come 
to  her,  or  through  whose  agency.  There  it  was  in  her 
hands;  she  felt  the  dreadful  reality  of  it;  but  of  whence 
it  came  she  never  thought.  She  had  no  feeling  of  sur- 
prise or  inquiry,  only  a  strange  sense  of  fulfilment.  "  She 
seemed  to  know  the  meaning  now  of  the  weight  of  fore- 

o  o 

boding  which  had  hung  upon  her  all  day. 

The  first  paper  she  opened  was  a  written  statement  of 
how  the  other  came  into  the  hands  of  the  writer,  was  ad- 
dressed, as  were  the  envelopes,  to  Francis  Brainerd,  Esq., 
and  had  been  prepared  in  case  the  writer  should  fail  of  a 
personal  interview.  It  was  signed,  "  Edward  Lynch,"  with 
an  address  somewhere  in  England ;  and  it  told,  in  short, 
cruelly  terse  and  intelligible  sentences,  how  the  writer, 
travelling  in  that  part  of  Central  Asia  which  lies  to  the 
northward  of  the  Himalayas,  being  on  his  return  into  the 
Punjaub  from  an  excursion  through  the  passes  of  those 
mountains,  had  come  upon  an  American  traveller  named 
Stafford.  The  latter  had  been  wounded  by  the  accidental 
discharge  of  a  gun  in  the  hands  of  one  of  his  servants,  and 
was  lying  at  the  point  of  death.  The  writer  remained 
with  him  until  he  died,  taking  from  his  lips  his  last  wishes, 
and  some  instructions  which  were  contained  in  the  leaves 
of  the  note-book  accompanying  this  communication. 

That  was  nearly  all ;  and  as  Lucy  finished  its  perusal, 
she  laid  the  paper  down,  and  mechanically  took  up  the 
others.  They  remained  with  ragged  edges,  just  as  a  hasty 
hand  had  torn  them  from  the  note-book.  There  were 
numerous  instructions  written  in  pencil,  and  she  read  them 
all  carefully  from  beginning  to  end.  After  directions  how 


366  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

to  find  Brainevd,  or  to  communicate  with  him,  followed 
requests  of  various  kinds,  which  he  begged  the  latter,  for 
the  sake  of  their  long  friendship,  to  see  executed.  Some 
messages  to  Colonel  Ross,  partly  relating  to  property  and 
partly  of  affection,  followed  ;  and  then  was  added,  — 

"  Tell  Frank  to  go  to  Hillsboro'  and  give  the  handker- 
chief to  Lucy.  Tell  her  that  I  never  blamed  her.  It  was 
my  hard  fate  only  that  honor  forbade  me  to  clear  myself 
in  her  eyes.  Tell  him  to  be  kind  to  Figaro  for  my  sake." 

Here  it  broke  off  suddenly ;  and  Lucy,  with  the  same 
cold  calmness,  proceeded  to  open  the  second  enclosure.  It 
contained  a  faded  wild  rose  and  her  own  handkerchief,  lost 
On  the  day  of  their  excursion  to  Long  Pond. 

There  it  lay  —  the  delicate,  gossamer  thing  —  so  sug- 
gestive of  gay,  airy  dresses,  of  drawing-rooms,  lights,  and 
perfumes.  She  brought  herself  at  last  to  touch  it.  Good 
God !  there  was  a  stain  of  blood  upon  it.  She  gazed  at  it 
with  eyes  dilating  with  horror.  Terrible  pictures  rose  to 
her  mind  —  pictures  of  a  lonely  death-scene  in  the  far  wil- 
derness, beneath  the  shadow  of  the  awful  mountains,  where, 
unsoothed  by  affection,  unsustained  by  friendship,  that 
brave,  gay  spirit  had  breathed  itself  away.  The  room 
which  had  lately  seemed  so  empty  was  now  filled  with 
ghosts — dreadful  phantoms  of  past  days,  of  dead  hopes 
and  joys.  They  crowded  upon  her  with  hard,  accusing 
faces.  Their  pitiless  eyes  seemed  to  demand  of  her  atone- 
ment for  some  wrong.  The  agony  of  her  feelings  was 
growing  insupportable.  She  felt  her  senses  leaving  her, 
and  attempted  to  rise.  The  room  grew  dark;  she  caught 
at  the  table  to  steady  herself,  reeled,  and  sank  insensible 
upon  the  floor. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  367 

Her  swoon  was  like  death.  How  long  it  lasted  she 
never  knew.  It  must  have  been  long,  however,  for  when 
consciousness  did  return,  the  chamber  was  perfectly  dark, 
and  she  could  hear  the  rain  as  the  wind  dashed  it  against 
the  windows.  She  could  not  at  first  remember  what  had 
happened.  She  felt  weak  and  cold,  and  tried  to  rise ;  but 
her  heavy  limbs  refused  to  do  their  office,  and  she  sank 
back  upon  the  floor,  only  half  conscious  of  place  and  season, 
but  with  a  dull,  leaden  weight  of  misery  upon  heart  and 
brain.  After  a  time  she  became  aware  of  a  step  approach- 
ing up  the  stairs;  the  handle  of  the  door  turned,  and  Han- 
nah Page  entered  with  a  lamp  in  her  hand. 


368  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

HANNAH  PAGE  had  a  tea-party  of  the  neighbors  that 
afternoon,  and  had  sent  for  her  younger  sister  to  assist  her 
in  the  dispensation  of  her  hospitalities.  Haifa  dozen  good 
ladies,  most  of  them  elderly  matrons,  were  gathered  in  the 
old  sunny  sitting-room ;  and  there  was  a  cheerful  click  of 
knitting-needles,  and  a  pleasant  confusion  of  voices.  It 
was  about  three  o'clock  when  an  animated  discussion  of 
certain  additions  which  Deacon  Sharpe  was  making  to  his 
house  was  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the  front  door. 

"  There,  Lydia,"  said  Hannah,  "somebody  is' knocking, 
and  my  work  is  just  where  I  can't  well  lay  it  down.  Won't 
you  go  and  see  who  it  is  ?  " 

Lydia,  in  compliance  with  this  request,  rose  and  proceed- 
ed to  the  door.  She  closed  the  inner  door  behind  her  as 
she  passed  into  the  entry ;  but  still  those  in  the  room 
could  distinguish  the  tones  of  an  unfamiliar  voice  inquiring 
if  Mr.  Page  lived  there.  Lydia  replied  in  the  affirmative, 
and  was  proceeding  to  say  that  her  father  was  at  his  work, 
and  that  she  would  call  him,  when  the  stranger  announced 
that  his  business  was  with  Miss  Hannah  Page,  and  asked 
if  he  could  see  her. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Lydia.  "  If  you  will  walk  in,  I  will 
speak  to  her." 

They  heard  her  open  the  parlor  door,  and  then  a  sound 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  369 

of  moving  chairs  and  opening  shutters,  and  presently  she 
reappeared. 

"Who  is  it,  Lydia?"  asked  Hannah. 

"  Nobody  I  ever  saw  before,"  replied  her  sister.  "  He 
wants  to  see  you." 

"Did  he  say  what  for?" 

"  Not  a  word." 

A  buzz  of  half-suppressed  curiosity  ran  round  the  group 
of  women.  Mrs.  Smiley  murmured,  "  How  strange ! "  in 
the  ear  of  her  next  neighbor ;  Mrs.  Perkins  nodded  her 
head  and  looked  very  wise,  as  if  she  could  guess  a  great 
deal  more  than  people  chose  to  tell.  Hannah  quietly  ex- 
cused herself,  laid  down  her  work,  and  left  the  room  to 
ascertain  the  stranger's  business. 

When  she  entered  the  parlor  he  was  standing  by  a 
window,  looking  out.  He  turned  and  bowed. 

"My  name  is  Brainerd,  madam  ;  Francis  Brainerd.  You 
may  have  heard  it  from  a  dear  friend  of  mine  and  yours, 
Mr.  Stafford." 

« 

"Yes,  indeed;  a  great  many  times,"  replied  Hannah, 
warmly,  extending  her  hand.  "  You  seem  almost  like  an 
old  acquaintance.  Pray  sit  down.  When  did  you  come 
from  India  ?  " 

"  I  am  arrived  but  a  few  weeks.  I  perceive  that  the  sad 
intelligence  of  which  I  am  the  bearer  has  not  reached  you 
before  me." 

lie  hesitated  a  moment.  Hannah's  quick  eye  searched 
his  face ;  and  she  asked,  in  a  changed  voice,  "Has  anything 
happened  to  our  friend?" 

"  The  worst,  Miss  Page." 

"Is  he  dead?" 
24 


370  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

His  lips  parted  as  if  he  would  speak,  but  his  voice  was 
choked ;  he  only  pointed  silently  to  the  crape  upon  his  hat. 
Neither  spoke  for  some  minutes.  At  length  Hannah  asked, 
in  a  voice  tremulous  with  grief,  — 

"  When  did  it  happen  ?  " 

"It  is  now  six  months  since." 

"  Were  you  with  him  ?  " 

"  No ;  he  died  among  strangers." 

"Not  in  Calcutta,  then?" 

"No ;  a  thousand  miles  from  there,  at  a  little  native  vil- 
lage in  the  wild  mountain  region  which  separates  India 
from  Central  Asia." 

"  What  sent  him  there  ?  and  what  was  the  cause  of  his 
death?" 

"Your  last  question  I  can  answer  at  once.  He  was  shot. 
A  rifle  went  off  in  the  clumsy  hands  of  a  Hindoo  servant, 
and  the  ball  entered  his  lungs.  But  for  the  answer  to  your 
first  question,  it  is  what  I  have  come  to  ask  your  aid  in 
finding." 

"My  aid,  sir!     How  can  I  help  you?" 

"  If  you  cannot,  I  fear  none  can.  It  is  this  which  has 
brought  me  here  to-day.  But,  in  order  that  you  should 
understand  my  perplexity,  I  must  go  back  some  time.  In 
going  into  the  particulars  of  my  friend's  private  history,  I 
should  not,  even  if  necessity  did  not  compel  me,  feel  any 
hesitation,  knowing  the  high  place  you  held  in  his  regard, 
— yes,  in  his  affection.  I  know  the  circumstances  of  your 
first  acquaintance  and  after  friendship,  and  how  strong  was 
the  attachment  "which  he  felt  for  your  family,  and  espe- 
cially for  yourself." 

Hannah's  tears  were  falling  fast,  but  she  remained  silent. 
Mr.  Brainerd  resumed,  after  a  temporary  pause  :  — 


HILLSBORO'   FARMS.  371 

"  In  the  spring  before  poor  George's  last  visit  to  Edge- 
hill,  the  question  was  raised  between  us  of  his  accompany- 
ing me  to  India.  I  wished  him  very  much  to  go ;  but  he 
objected, — mainly,  I  think,  from  a  feeling  that  he  had 
already  spent  many  years  in  aimless  wandering  about  the 
earth,  and  thjt  it  was  time  for  him  to  settle  down  to  some 
useful  employment.  He  was  still  uncertain,  however,  when 
news  from  England  decided  his  course  for  him.  His  uncle, 
Colonel  Ross,  wrote  that  it  was  highly  desirable,  indeed 
necessary  for  the  settlement  of  some  property  in  England, 
that  he  should  go  thither  at  once.  I  was  leaving  then  in 
a  few  days.  I  knew  that  he  went  down  to  Edgehill  for  a 
short  visit  before  the  steamer  in  which  he  meant  to  go  was 
to  sail.  I  also  knew  that  the  business  I  have  mentioned 
required  his  immediate  presence  in  England,  and  a  stay 
there  of  nearly,  if  not  quite,  a  year.  Judge,  then,  of  my 
surprise  on  receiving  letters,  after  my  arrival  in  Calcutta, 
which  showed  him  loitering  through  all  the  summer  in 
Edgehill.  Weeks  grew  to  months,  and  still  he  staid.  I 
could  gather  from  his  letters  no  hint  of  what  detained  him; 
he  assigned  half  a  score  of  reasons,  not  one  of  which,  I 
knew,  would  have  had  power  to  hold  him  there  for  a  day. 
At  length,  suddenly,  without  the  slightest  intimation  of  his 
intention,  he  appeared  to  me  one  morning  in  Calcutta.  To 
my  astonishment,  I  learned  that  he  had  not  been  in  Eng- 
land at  all ;  he  actually  appeared  to  have  forgotten  that  he 
had  thought  of  going  there.  It  did  not  take  me  long  to 
discover  that  an  entire  change  had  been  wrought  in  un- 
friend ;  but  my  utmost  efforts  failed  to  learn  its  cause.  He 
was  moody  —  at  times  even  sullen.  At  one  moment  he 
shunned  all  society,  and  the  next  he  eagerly  sought  what- 


372  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

ever  seemed  to  promise  excitement.  He  soon  had  a  host 
of  friends  among  the  English  and  American  residents,  who 
make  up  a  very  gay  and  hospitable  society,  and  his  com- 
pany was  much  in  request.  But  often,  after  having  been 
the  life  of  some  party,  excursion,  or  adventure,  I  have 
known  him  retire  to  his  own  room,  which  was  near  mine, 
and  spend  the  entire  night  in  pacing  restlessly  up  and 
down,  —  he,  whose  sleep,  all  his  life,  had  been  sweet,  and 
sound,  and  healthy  as  a  school-boy's ! 

"  This  continued  some  time.  Business  kept  me  a  close 
prisoner  in  the  city ;  but  I  found  that  he  had  grown  in- 
tensely weary  of  it,  and  only  remained  to  be  near  inc. 
Suddenly  he  announced  his  resolution  to  occupy  the  re- 
maining period  of  my  detention  there  with  an  expedition 
into  the  Punjaub,  and  perhaps  through  the  passes  of  the. 
Himalayas  into  Thibet.  It  was  a  hazardous  excursion,  at 
the  best,  and  I  opposed  it  strongly,  begging  him  to  stay 
with  me.  But  the  restless  .fever  had  taken  him,  and  I  was 
unable  to  shake  his  resolution.  His  preparations  were 
very  rapidly  made.  He  was  to  be  accompanied  by  Figaro 
and  a  native  servant — a  very  insufficient  retinue,  as  I  then 
represented  to  him ;  but  he  could  see  no  necessity  for  any- 
thing further.  The  evening  before  his  departure  he  dined 
with  me  in  company  with  one  or  two  other  gentlemen.  I 
never  saw  him  more  brilliant.  He  was  the  life  and  soul  of 
the  party,  and  my  guests  went  away  delighted  with  my 
friend.  He  remained  after  the  others  were  gone,  talking 
on  indifferent  topics  for  half  an  hour.  When  he  rose  to 
go,  he  shook  my  hand  with  an  unforced  gayety,  which  was 
more  like  himself  than  anything  I  had  seen  in  him  since 
his  arrival.  In  going  out,  he  looked  back  from  the  door, 


HILLSBOBO'    FARMS.  373 

as  if  there  were  something  he  was  half  inclined  to  say; 
but,  without  speaking,  he  came  hastily  back  to  where  I  was 
sitting,  laid  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  and,  stooping, 
kissed  me  on  the  forehead,  and  left  me.  I  never  saw  him 
again." 

Mr.  Brainerd  and  Hannah  were  silent  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  then  the  latter  asked,  — 

"  How  did  you  learn  of  his  death  ?  " 

"  Through  strangers.  I  heard  from  him  several  times ;  but 
when  all  intelligence  ceased,  I  did  not  at  first  feel  any  ap- 
prehension, as  I  knew  he  proposed  to  extend  his  journey 
beyond  the  mountains,  into  a  region  with  which  there  was 
none  but  chance  communication.  I  had  begun,  however, 
to  feel  somewhat  anxious  at  his  protracted  silence,  when, 
one  evening,  there  called  on  me  a  gentleman  who  an- 
nounced himself  as  Mr.  Lynch,  an  Englishman.  He  in- 
formed me  of  Stafford's  death,  and  said  he  was  with  him 
at  the  time.  Lynch,  with  some  other  travellers,  was  re- 
turning from  an  expedition  similar  to  that  which  Stafford 
had  undertaken,  and,  in  the  wild,  unfrequented  region  of 
Western  Thibet,  at  a  little  Tartar  village  lying  some  hun- 
dred miles  to  the  north  of  the  mountain  city  of  Leh,  they 
found  our  poor  friend.  He  was  lying  upon  the  ground,  his 
strength  already  nearly  exhausted,  his  life  fast  bleeding 
away.  His  servants  were  too  much  frightened  to  afford 
any  assistance,  even  if  assistance  could  have  been  of  any 
avail.  Lynch  learned  who  he  was,  and  promised  to  see  mo 
and  his  uncle,  Colonel  Ross.  He  took  from  his  lips  his  last 
wishes,  and  a  few  instructions  how  to  see  them  carried  out. 
Here  are  the  leaves  of  the  note-book  in  which  he  wrote 
them  as  they  were  uttered.  He  brought  me  this  ring, 


374  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

which  you  may  remember,  and  his  watch  for  his  uncle, 
with  other  tokens  of  which  I  will  speak  presently.  Lynch 
staid  with  him  until  he  died,  but  could  no  longer,  as  his 
party  were  impatient  to  move  on.  He  brought  back  with 
him  to  Calcutta  the  Hindoo  servant  Stafford  had  engaged. 
Figaro  refused  to  leave  the  body  of  his  master.  When 
they  tried  to  compel  him,  he  showed  the  dreadful  rage  of 
a  wild  animal.  Lynch  described  him  as  positively  danger- 
ous ;  and  so  they  were  obliged  to  leave  him,  crouching, 
nearly  senseless  himself,  at  poor  George's  side.  The  na- 
tives had  seemed  friendly  and  kind,  and  Lynch  gave  them 
money  —  it  was  all  he  could  do  —  in  exchange  for  a  prom- 
ise to  bury  the  body  and  take  care  of  Figaro.  O,  Miss 
Page,  I  have  no  words  to  tell  you  of  my  grief,  when  I 
think  of  him  —  so  beloved,  so  fitted  to  give  and  receive 
happiness.  You,  who  have  known  and  loved  him,  may 
judge  in  some  degree  what  his  loss  is  to  me  —  my  friend 
of  so  many  years." 

Hannah's  tears  prevented  a  reply.  In  a  few  minutes  Mr. 
Brainerd  proceeded :  — 

"I  now  come  to  the  point  where  I  hope  to  have  your 
assistance.  Here  are  the  leaves  of  Lynch's  note-book,"  — 
he  laid  a  parcel  on  the  table, — "and  here  the  instructions. 
I  have  religiously  complied  with  every  one  until  this;" 
and  he  pointed  to  the  one  which  referred  to  Lucy.  "  Here 
I  have  no  clew  to  what  he  means.  It  is  in  the  hope  that 
you  may  aid  me  to  find  one,  that  I  have  come  to  you 
to-day." 

Hannah  bent  over  the  papers  for  a  moment,  and  then 
said,  "  I  know  nothing  of  any  handkerchief.  Where  is  it  ?  " 

He  took  from  the  envelope  Lucy's  handkerchief,  and 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  375 

laid  it  before  her.  She  reached  out  her  hand  for  it  with  a 
cry  of  surprise,  but  shuddered  and  drew  back  at  sight  of 
the  stains  it  bore. 

"  Did  he  have  that  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  husky  voice. 

"  It  was  in  the  inner  breast  pocket  of  his  coat,  wrapped 
in  several  iblds  of  paper.  He  had  not  strength  himself  to 
draw  it  out,  but  could  only  indicate  the  place  to  Lynch, 
who  took  it  at  his  request.  Did  you  ever  see  it  before  ? 
Do  you  know  to  whom  it  belonged?" 

"  I  know  it  well ;  but  it  explains  nothing  to  me." 

"  Who,  then,  is  Lucy,  and  where  does  she  live  ?  What 
was  her  connection  with  Stafford,  and  what  broke  it  off?" 

"  Part  of  your  questions  I  can  answer.  Lucy  Fraser  is 
my  cousin ;  she  lives  not  far  from  here.  There  never  was 
anything  which  could  be  called  a  connection'  between  her 
and  Mr.  Stafford.  Lucy  is  very  beautiful,  and  people  used 
to  say  he  was  in  love  with  her.  He  was  always  corning  to 
her  father's  that  summer,  and  I  must  confess  that,  at  the 
time,  I  thought  so  myself." 

"  Is  Miss  Fraser  a  lovely  girl,  with  dark-blue,  level-look- 
ing eyes,  firm,  sweet  lips,  and  cheeks  like  a  sea-shell  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  fair  description  of  my  cousin.  Where  have 
you  seen  her?" 

"I  passed  a  lady  half  a  mile  above  here,  and  asked  of  her 
a  direction.  Looking  into  her  face  then,  I  felt  a  sort  of 
conviction  that  if,  as  I  suspected,  poor  George  had  given 
away  that  noble  heart  of  his  into  a  woman's  keeping,  it 
was  to  her  he  had  surrendered  it.  What  possessed  me  of 
the  idea  I  cannot  tell ;  but  I  had  it.  She  has  one  of  those 
faces  which  are  a  fate  to  men." 

He  resumed,  after  a  moment :  — 


376  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  I  have .  learned  from  you,  Miss  Page,  more,  perhaps, 
than  I  could  have  expected  —  enough  to  enable  me  to  do 
all  that  is  required.  Still,  I  had  hoped  to  discover  more. 
From  the  tenor  of  this  message,  it  would  seem  there  was 
something  wrong.  Have  you  any  suspicion  why  your 
cousin  refused  Mr.  Stafford  ?  "  * 

"  I  cannot  positively  say  that  she  never  refused  him ;  but 
I  am  quite  persuaded  in  my  own  mind  that  he  never  pro- 
posed to  her." 

"  You  complicate  the  affair,  when  I  looked  to  you  to 
make  it  clear.  Here  is  my  reason  for  thinking  there  must 
have  been  some  connection  which  the  lady,  for  reasons 
of  her  own,  had  broken  off.  In  examining  the  papers 
of  my  friend,  as  I  was  obliged  to  do,  I  discovered  these 
two  notes ;  a  faded  rose  was  folded  with  them.  There  is 
an  interval  of  several  weeks  between  them.  They  are 
dated  at  Hillsboro',  but  the  signatures  had  been  carefully 
torn  away.  Do  you  recognize  the  hand?" 

"Yes;  it  is  Lucy's." 

"I  presumed  so.  This  one,  bearing  date  early  in  July, 
is  a  graceful,  lively  affair,  and  concerns  some  party  of  pleas- 
ure. It  shows  a  pleasant,  friendly,  not  too  intimate  ac- 
quaintance. But  this,  written  on  the  tenth  of  September, 
is  very  different.  Read  it,  and  you  will  see  how  cold  is 
the  tone  of  it;  how  haughtily,  and  with  what  frigid  polite- 
ness, she  expresses  a  hope  that  he  will  see,  as  clearly  as  her- 
self, the  propriety  of  absenting  himself  from  Hillsboro'. 
Now,  what  had  occurred  between  the  writing  of  these 
two?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  —  I  know  nothing." 

M  My  motive  in  seeking  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  is 


HILLSBORO'   FARMS.  377 

not  curiosity.  By  comparing  this  second  note  with  the 
message  sent  through  Lynch,  it  is  evident  there  must  have 
been  some  misunderstanding,  something  which  could  not 
be  explained.  My  hope  was,  that  I  might  discover  its  na- 
ture,-<md,  from  my  intimate  knowledge  of  the  character 
and  life  of  my  friend,  be  able  to  dispel  any  shadow,  how- 
ever slight,  that  might  rest  on  his  memory.  That  hope  I 
must  forego.  And  now,  Miss  Page,  will  you  do  me  a  great 
kindness?  Will  you  put  these  papers  and  the  handker- 
chief into  the  hands  of  your  cousin,  and  tell  her  whence 
they  came?" 

"  O,  Mr.  Brainerd,  don't  ask  me  to  do  that !     I  cannot." 

"  But  consider.  I  will  believe  that  she  must  at  one  time 
have  cherished  a  feeling  at  least  kind  and  friendly,  if  not 
tender,  for  one  who  loved  her  so  well.  Even  if  she  did 
not  know  of  his  love  or  return  it,  the  proofs  9f  its  undying 
strength,  coming  in  such  form  as  this,  must  be  full  of  pain 
to  her.  It  will  soften  the  blow  to  have  her  learn  the  truth 
from  you." 

"You  are  right,  I  admit.  It  is  a  hard  thing  to  do; 
but  I  consent,  for  Lucy's  sake.  Have  you  seen  Mr. 
Gore?" 

"  No.  I  went  to  Edgehill ;  but  he  is,  unfortunately,  ab- 
sent in  Washington.  I  am  compelled  to  return  immedi- 
ately to  New  York,  but  hope  to  arrange  a  meeting  with 
him  soon." 

He  now  rose  to  go ;  but  Hannah  urged  him  to  stay  and 
take  some  refreshment  before  proceeding  on  his  journey. 
He  thanked  her  warmjy,  but  declined.  The  day  was  wear- 
ing away,  and  he  had  a  long  drive  before  him  to  reach 
Kiffton  and  the  railway.  He  was  drawing  on  his  gloves, 


378  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

when  Hannah,  who  had  been  sadly  looking  over  the  papers 
on  the  table,  took  up  one  of  the  notes  in  Lucy's  hand- 
writing. 

"  Strange ! "  she  said,  thoughtfully.  "  This  note  is  dated 
the  tenth  of  September,  and  must  have  been  written  on 
the  very  day  that  Mr.  Stafford  was  last  at  my  uncle's.  I 
remember  it  because  it  was  my  birthday,  and  Lucy  and 
a  lady  who  was  visiting  her  were  to  take  tea  with  me, 
and  they  did  not  come,  because  Mrs.  Lovell  was  taken 
sick," 

"Mrs.  Lovell,  did  you  say?"  exclaimed  Brainerd,  turn- 
ing round  sharply. 

"Yes;  she  was  a  lady  Lucy  knew  in  Europe,  and  she 
spent  a  week  with  her  at  that  time.  Did  you  know 
her?" 

"  Good  Heavens  !  You  have  unconsciously  given  me 
the  clew  to  everything.  Did  I  know  Mrs.  Lovell  ?  I  cer- 
tainly did ;  and  I  knew  her  for  a  blind,  selfish  woman,  who 
ruined  her  own  happiness,  and  ended,  it  would  seem,  by 
ruining  George  Stafford's  as  well." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Brainerd?" 

"  I  will  explain,"  he  replied,  re-seating  himself,  "  if  you 
will  be  good  enough  to  tell  me  everything  which  you  can 
remember  of  that  last  visit  of  Stafford's  at  your  uncle's." 

Hannah  complied,  relating  with  careful  minuteness  all 
the  events  of  that  day  which  had  come  under  her  own 
observation.  Mr.  Brainerd  listened  attentively,  but  nearly 
in  silence,  putting  only  now  and  then  a  question  as  to 
Stafford's  position  and  habits  of  intimacy  with  the  family. 

"  I  understand  it  all  now,"  he  said,  when  Hannah  had 
finished ;  "  all  the  misunderstanding,  and  the  perhaps  nat- 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  379 

ural  misrepresentation.  I  can  see,  too,  how  poor  George, 
with  his  exalted  chivalry  where  a  woman  was  concerned, 
and  his  fine  sense  of  honor,  felt  himself  compelled  to  accept 
the  position  into  which  he  was  thrust,  rather  than  compro- 
mise a  woman  who  never  had  any  consideration  for  him  — 
or,  indeed,  for  herself." 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  Mrs.  Lovell  who  worked  mischief 
between  him  and  Lucy  ?  " 

"I  do,  certainly  —  with  no  malicious  intention,  but 
driven  by  the  headlong  folly  which  characterized  every- 
thing she  ever  did.  But  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it,  and 
you  shall  judge  where  the  greatest  blame  should  lie. 
During  the  autumn  previous  to  the  winter  in  which  Staf- 
ford first  came  to  Edgehill,  he  went  with  me  to  Vermont, 
to  the  house  of  my  uncle.  There  was  a  gay  party  of  vis- 
itors in  the  house,  and,  among  them,  Mrs.  Lovell.  Staf- 
ford had  never  seen  her  before,  but  I  had  known  her  all 
her  life.  Though  very  beautiful,  and  almost  universally 
admired,  she  had,  I  confess,  never  been  a  favorite  of  mine. 
I  had  always  thought  her  to  be  well-meaning  enough,  but 
vain,  shallow,  and  passionate  —  plenty  of  fire,  but  no  force. 
She  had  heard  of  Stafford,  and  before  he  arrived  —  this  I 
•know  positively,  from  the  ladies  of  my  uncle's  family  — 
had  boasted  that  she  would  do  what  it  was  said  no  woman 
had  yet  done  *—  bring  him  to  her  feet.  Accordingly,  when 
they  met,  she  brought  the  whole  battery  of  her  fascina- 
tions—  and  you  know  that  they  were  many  —  to  bear 
upon  him.  She  meant  to  enslave  him;  she  never  reck- 
oned on  being  caught  herself.  But  I  think  from  the  very 
first  she  was  fascinated  by  our  friend.  You  knew  him ; 
you  must  remember  the  rare  charm,  of  his  manner,  inspired 


380  ^  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

by  a  spirit  of  chivalrous  gallantry  towards  all  women. 
Then,  too,  his  fine  person  was  not  likely  to  go  for  nothing 
with  one  like  Mrs.  Lovell.  She  was  an  exacting  woman, 
demanding  of  her  many  admirers  the  most  absorbing  de- 
votion. Stafford  only  followed  the  current  of  the  crowd. 
She  was  beautiful,  and  he  admired  her ;  she  honored  him 
with  her  evident  preference,  and  he  acknowledged  it  by  a 
perhaps  too  assiduous  attention.  That  was  all.  Thus  it 
continued  through  the  fortnight  we  were  together  in  the 
country,  and  for  a  short  time  after  we  all  met  in  New 
York. 

"  Now,  all  this  is  not  in  accordance  with  your  ideas  of 
life  and  its  proprieties.  I  am  not  going  to  defend  it ;  but 
pray  remember,  there  is  a  wide  difference  —  in  favor  of 
which  I  will  not  undertake  to  say  —  between  your  world 
and  theirs.  Edtication  makes  men  and  women,  you  know. 
After  a  time  it  began  to  strike  me  that  Mrs.  Lovell  was 
becoming  more  interested  in  her  new  acquaintance  than 
might  be  well  for  her.  I  hinted  as  much  to  Stafford ;  and, 
though  he  treated  my  suggestion  as  perfectly  groundless, 
I  saw  that  it  had  an  effect.  He  did  not  abruptly  with- 
draw from  the  intimacy,  out  of  regard  to  her  sensitive 
vanity;  but  he  allowed  himself  often  to  be  kept  away 
from  her  by  others.  I  believe  that  at  first  she  thought 
this  the  result  of  accident,  for,  as  he  retreated,  she  pur- 
sued. He  attached  himself,  at  length,  quite  exclusively  to 
other  ladies;  and  then  a  violent  exhibition  of  jealousy,  in 
perfect  keeping  with  her  character,  put  an  end  to  all 
doubt,  if  any  had  remained.  He  went  out  of  town,  ab- 
senting himself  for  several  weeks,  solely,  as  I  could  well 
guess,  to  give  her  time  to  recover  her  senses.  But  imme- 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  381 

diately  on- his  return,  it  chanced  that  he  met  Mrs.  Lovell 
at  a  dinner-party.  Exactly  what  passed  I  do  not  know; 
but  she  extracted  from  him  a  promise  to  meet  her  the  next 
evening  at  some  place  to  which  they  were  both  invited. 
He  broke  the  promise,  —  I  think  he  never  meant  to  keep 
it,  —  and  staid  quietly  at  home.  He  was  living  in  my 
house  at  the  time,  or  I  should  never  have  known  these 
circumstances.  You  must  understand  that  I  live  alone, 
having  neither  wife,  mother,  nor  sister,  and  Stafford  and 
myself  were  the  only  persons  in  the  house  except  the  ser- 
vants. Well,  this  evening  of  which  I  speak  was  nearly 
spent,  when  a  lady  came  to  the  house  in  a  hackney  coach. 
She  was  closely  veiled,  and  inquired  for  Stafford.  My 
man  replied  that  Mr.  Stafford  was  writing  in  his  own 
room,  and  had  given  orders  not  to  be  disturbed.  She  de- 
manded, however,  to  be  shown  to  him  at  once ;  and  the 
servant,  without  further  parley,  did  as  he  was  told.  I  was 
sitting  with  Stafford  in  his  room  when  she  entered,  and, 
raising  her  veil,  revealed  the  agitated,  tear-stained  features 
of  Mrs.  Lovell.  She  had  not  seen  him  at  the  place  she 
appointed,  and  had  heard  a  rumor  that  he  was  leaving 
town  the  next  morning,  and  in  her  desperation  she  had 
come  to  him. 

"  Of  what  passed  at  that  interview  I,  of  course,  know 
nothing,  —  I  escaped  from  the  room  as  soon  as  she  entered 
it,  —  but  from  my  knowledge  of  the  characters  of  both,  it 
is  not  difficult  to  surmise  its  general  tenor.  What  was 
likely  to  be  the  bearing  of  such  a  man  towards  a  beautiful 
woman,  whose  only  offence  was  loving  him  too  well,  and 
who  had  braved  everything  to  fling  herself  into  his  arms  ? 
If  he  soothed  her  trouble  with  softer  words  or  more  tender 


382  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

tones  than  his  ordinary  feeling  for  her  would  dictate,  I 
cannot  think  it  strange,  nor  can  I  condemn  him  as  insin- 
cere. To  win  her'  to  a  more  reasonable  frame  of  mind, 
and  to  save  her  from  the  consequences  of  her  folly,  was 
unquestionably  his  aim ;  and  that  was  what  he  did.  She 
remained  some  time,  and  then  left,  escorted  by  him  to  her 
carriage.  I  believe  the  occurrence  never  got  wind.  The 
servant  who  admitted  did  not  know  her;  and  I  think  I 
was  the  only  person  who  had  any  knowledge  of  it.  The 
next  morning  Stafford  left  New  York,  and  set  out  to  visit 
his  cousin,  Mr.  Gore,  at  Edgehill.  He  gave  me  no  reason 
for  this  sudden  movement ;  but  I  did  not  need  to  be  a 
wizard  to  guess  his  motive  in  burying  himself  in  a  remote 
country  district  at  that  severe  season." 

"  Then  it  was  directly  after  these  events  that  we  first 
knew  him  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  probably,  but  for  what  I  have  told  you,  you 
never  would  have  known  him.  He  saw  that  prudence  and 
honor  la'y  only  in  flight,  and  he  came  here"." 

Hannah  was  silent.  Her  thoughts  had  flashed  back  to 
that  first  winter,  and  she  was  recalling  many  little  traits 
of  manner  and  temper  in  the  stranger  which  had  seemed 
contradictory  then,  but  which  were  intelligible  enough 
now.  It  was  easy  to  see  whence  had  come  the  occasional 
cloud  of  gloom  which  would  gather  over  the  natural  gay- 
ety  of  his  spirits.  She  remembered  that  evening  when 
Mr.  Lovell  had  called  at  the  house  to  ask  a  simple  busi- 
ness question  of  Stafford,  the  peculiar  demeanor  of  the 
latter  when  he  recognized  the  visitor's  voice,  and  the  un- 
accountable emotion  he  had  betrayed.  She  could  under- 
stand how,  with  his  knowledge  of  Mrs.  Lovell,  he  might 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  383 

well  believe  there  was  no  folly  of  which  she  was  incapable, 
and  no  exposure  her  recklessness  might  not  have  brought 
on.  Mr.  Brainerd  proceeded  :  — 

"  About  that  time  Mrs.  Lovell's  little  girl  showed  symp- 
toms of  illness,  and  the  physician  ordered  her  to  Cuba.  I 
am  quite  sure  they  never  met  again  until  this  occasion  of 
which  you  speak.  And  now  you  see  the  difficulty  of 
Stafford's  position.  How  could  he  say,  'I  never  loved 
this  woman  —  I  never  even  pretended  to.  It  was  my  mis- 
fortune to  be  so  irresistible  that  she  adored  me,  while  I 
had  not  a  crumb  to  give  her  in  return '  ?  To  think  such  a 
thing,  even,  makes  a  man  feel  like  a  coxcomb ;  to  say  it, 
he  must  be  one." 

"All  this  astonishes  me,  Mr.  Brainerd.  I  remember 
liking  Mrs.  Lovell  very  much." 

"  And  naturally,  for  she  was  a  very  lovely  woman,  after 
all.  Much  that  was  amiss  in  her  was  attributable  to  the 
faults  of  education.  She  was  amiable  and  affectionate, 
but  wholly  undisciplined.  She  followed  the  wild  lead  of 
any  impulse  with  no  thought  of  whither  it  would  carry 
her;  and  she  owed  it  to  the  generosity  and  good  sense  of 
the  man  whose  happiness  she  managed  to  ruin,  that  she 
retained  what  is  of  most  value  to  a  woman  —  that  she 
lived  and  died  with  no  stain  upon  her  name.  I  would  never 
have  spoken  of  this,  had  not  justice  to  the  memory  of  our 
friend  forbidden  me  to  remain  silent.  And  now,  I  must 
ask  of  you  to  set  the  facts  of  the  case  before  your  cousin. 
Both  are  dead,  it  is  true,  and  passed  beyond  our  censure  ; 
but  even  now,  it  seems  to  me,  the  truth  should  be  known, 
and  the  blame  be  apportioned  between  them  as  it  be- 
longs." 


384  HILLSBOEO'   FARMS. 

Mr.  Brainerd  again  rose  and  prepared  to  depart.  He 
thanked  Hannah  gratefully  for  the  sympathy  and  assist- 
ance she  had  afforded  him,  received  her  renewed  promise 
to  make  all  needed  explanations  to  Lucy,  and  then,  shak- 
ing her  hand  warmly,  took  his  leave. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  385 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

HANNAH  returned  to  her  guests,  whose  curiosity  \vas 
greatly  stimulated  by  the  length  of  the  stranger's  stay. 
Briefly  she  explained  who  he  was,  and  the  sad  intelligence 
he  had  brought,  reserving,  of  course,  all  reference  to  Lucy. 
Lydia  wept  bitterly  at  the  recital,  and  at  the  thought  of 
that  lonely  death-scene.  Ben,  coming  in  and  finding  his 
wife  in  tears,  anxiously  inquired  the  reason ;  and  Lydia 
told  him,  with  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  her  voice 
tremulous  with  feeling.  Hannah  was  thankful  that  the 
poignancy  of  her  young  sister's  grief  had  the  effect  to  dis- 
tract general  attention  from  herself;  and  she  went  about 
the  duties  which  hospitality  demanded  of  her  with  such 
steadiness  as  she  could  command.  She  had  gathered  the 
papers  again  into  a  parcel,  and  when  Heman  arrived  she 
sent  them  by  him  to  Lucy ;  for  she  had  a  strange  dread  of 
being  herself  the  bearer  of  the  first  announcement  to  her 
cousin.  Had  she  been  aware,  however,  of  the  effect  the 
news  would  produce,  she  would  never  have  done  this.  But 
Lucy's  placid  exterior  had  deceived  her. 

It  was  eight  o'clock,  and  raining  heavily,  when,  the  rest 
of  the  guests  having  gone,  Ben  brought  his  horse  to  the 
door,  to  take  Lydia  home.  Hannah  begged  him  first  to 
carry  herself  up  to  her  uncle's.  They  remonstrated  with 
her  for  wishing  to  go  that  night ;  but  she  was  so  urgent 
that  she  carried  her  point. 

9ft 

+,<> 


386  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

When  they  reached  Mr.  Eraser's  door,  she  sprang  out 
quickly,  and  bidding  Ben  and  Lydia  a  hurried  good  night, 
hastened  into  the  house.  To  Dolly's  exclamations  of  as- 
tonishment at  seeing  her,  she  replied  by  an  inquiry  for  her 
cousin.  The  girl  answered  that  Lucy  was  in  her  chamber, 
not  having  been  down  to  supper. 

"Is  anything  the  matter  with  her?"  asked  Hannah, 
proceeding  to  divest  herself  of  her  dripping  cloak  and 
hood. 

Dolly  did  not  know.  She  had  noticed  all  day  that  Lucy 
did  not  seem  well  —  not  just  like  herself.  She  had  taken 
a  long  walk  that  afternoon,  and  had  gone  right  up  stairs 
after  coming  in.  Dolly  had  been  intending  to  go  up  and 
see  if  she  wanted  anything,  but  had  been  so  busy  helping 
Mary  Jane  with  the  ironing  that  it  had  slipped  her  mind. 

Hannah  took  a  lamp  and  ascended  to  her  cousin's  room. 
Her  knock,  once  or  twice  repeated,  eliciting  no  answer,  she 
opened  the  door  and  entered.  Lifting  the  light  above  her 
head,  she  peered  into  the  gloom,  and  at  length  descried 
the  object  of  her  search,  half  sitting,  half  crouching  upon 
the  floor,  and  g'azing  at  her  with  a  dazed  and  bewildered 
expression.  Hannah  went  hastily  forward,  and  dropping 
on  her  knees,  raised  the  poor  head  in  her  arms,  and  pressed 
the  pale  face  close  to  her  breast — just  as  once  before  she 
had  held  it  when  a  strong  wave  of  agony  swept  over  the 
young  heart.  Then  the  form  of  the  young  girl  had  been 
shaken  by  a  storm  of  sobs,  and  scalding  tears  had  been 
wrung  from  her.  Now  the  heavy  lids  drooped  over  dry, 
hot  eyes,  and  a  kind  of  stupor  seemed  to  benumb  all  her 
senses. 

Hannah  was  alarmed,  and  made  efforts  to  rouse  her  cousin 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  387 

from  this  condition,  but  with  little  success.  With  gentle 
force  she  induced  her  to  lie  down  upon  the  bed,  and  then 
proceeded  to  remove  her  dress,  and  to  administer  such  re- 
storatives as  she  had  at  hand.  But  her  alarm  increased  as 
she  found  that  her  measures  had  but  little  effect.  It  was 
only  at  intervals  that  Lucy  seemed  conscious  of  anything 
around  her.  She  lay  in  a  condition  that  was  neither  sleep- 
ing nor  waking,  her  fixed,  wide-open  eyes  alternating  be- 
tween wildness  and  vacancy.  Convulsive  shudders  shook 
her  frame ;  her  temples  throbbed ;  her  flesh  was  burning 
hot  even  wvhile  she  shivered  like  one  in  an  ague  fit.  As 
the  hours  wore  on  the  fever  increased ;  her  state  of  dull 
stupor  gave  place  to  excitement,  and  before  morning  she 
was  raving  in  delirium. 

Hannah  never  left  her.  Soon  after  midnight  she  became 
so  anxious  that  she  roused  Jerry  from  his  slumbers  and  sent 
him  to  the  Centre  to  summon  the  doctor  whom  the  family 
were  accustomed  to  call  in  their  slight  ailments.  He  came 
at  once,  but  seemed  puzzled  by  the  condition  of  the  pa- 
tient. Quite  early  next  day  Heinan  came  to  learn  the 
cause  of  his  sister's  prolonged  absence  from  home,  and  she 
immediately  despatched  him  to  KifFton,  that  being  the 
nearest  point  whence  a  telegraphic  message  could  be  sent 
to  her  uncle  and  aunt,  while  she  hurried  Ben  off  to  Col- 
chester, to  bring  thence  the  captain  and  a  skilful  physi- 
cian. 

The  Colchester  doctor  arrived  towards  evening,  and 
looked  very  grave  as  he  listened  to  the  report  given  by 
Hannah  and  the  rural  practitioner  first  summoned.  Lucy's 
situation,  indeed,  warranted  some  alarm.  Whether  the 
seeds  of  illness  had  already  been  lingering  about  her, 


388  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

and  the  nervous  excitement  and  shock  she  had  undergone 
had  only  served  to  quicken  them  into  activity,  or  whether 
she  had  taken  cold  by  sitting  so  long  in  the  damp  woods 
that  afternoon,  I  cannot  say ;  but  she  was  evidently  in  the 
grasp  of  a  high  and  dangerous  fever.  And  for  days  and 
weeks  they  hung  over  her ,  watching  almost  hopelessly, 
while  her  features  grew  wasted  and  shrunken,  and  her 
sweet  lips  parched  and  dry;  while  over  her  soft  blue 
eyes  passed  alternately  the  lurid  brightness  of  delirium 
and  the  dulness  of  a  lethargy  even  more  dreadful. 

In  her  wanderings  she  seldom  raved  violently ;  but  from 
the  muttered  words  which  escaped  her  it  was  evident  that 
she  had  gone  back  in  imagination  to  the  winter  when  we 
first  knew  her,  and  that  she  fancied  herself  once  more  with 
Hannah,  Mary,  and  Fanshaw,  in  her  uncle's  house.  She 
lived  over  again  all  the  incidents  of  that  memorable  snow 
storm,  calling  to  Hannah's  mind  much  which  the  latter 
had  forgotten,  and  seeming  always  to  be  harassed  by  anx- 
iety for  some  one  wandering  and  perishing  in  the  snow. 
She  never  mentioned  Stafford,  but  seemed  in  some  way 
to  confound  her  own  identity  with  that  of  Nancy  Cline, 
fancying  that  it  was  herself  who  had  the  task  to  keep  the 
beacon  lamps  forever  burning. 

Hannah  alone,  of  all  the  kind  nurses  around  Lucy's  bed, 
guessed  the  significance  of  these  broken  wanderings.  She 
had  found,  that  first  night,  upon  the  table  the  handkerchief 
and  the  scattered  papers ;  and,  gathering  them  all  up,  she 
hid  them  away  in  one  of  Lucy's  drawers,  and  turned  the 
key  upon  their  dreadful  story.  In  the  stronger  excitement 
of  Lucy's  danger,  her  friends  naturally  lost,  for  the  time, 
all  thought  of  the  news  which  Brainerd  had  brought;  and 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  389 

as  for  connecting  that  news  in  any  way  with  her  illness, 
there  was  no  one  save  Hannah  possessing  sufficient  knowl- 
edge to  so  link  them  together. 

Hannah  established  a  willing  substitute  in  her  place  at 
home,  and  she  herself  scarcely  left  the  chamber  in  which 
the  gentle  girl,  the  light  and  joy  of  so  many  hearts,  lay 
battling  for  her  life.  Long,  very  long,  the  combat  lasted. 
Many  times  it  seemed  to  those  around  that  hope  was  wholly 
gone.  But  youth  and  the  vigorous  constitution  of  the 
Erasers  triumphed  at  last.  One  still,  sharp  autumn  morn- 
ing, when  the  sun  was  shining  clear,  and  the  hoar  frost  lay 
white  and  sparkling  over  all  the  hill-sides,  Lucy  awoke 
from  a  sleep  which  had  lasted  a  night  and  a  day,  and  looked 
around  with  a  conscious,  recognizing  smile  ;  weak  indeed, 
—  so  weak  it  seemed  as  if  a  breath  might  fan  away  the 
feeble  spark  of  life,  —  but  with  reason  in  her  eyes,  and  the 
fire  of  fever  no  longer  burning  in  her  veins. 

Old  Captain  Fraser,  who  had  not  shed  one  tear  in  all 
the  two  dreadful  weeks  through  which  his  darling's  life  had 
hung  trembling  in  the  balance,  broke  down  now,  and  sobbed 
so  wildly  that  Hannah  was  compelled  to  draw  him  from 
the  room. 

Lucy's  recovery  was  not  rapid.  Her  feet  had  strayed 
very  near  the  entrance  to  the  dark  valley,  and  it  almost 
seemed  as  if  the  chill  shadows  projected  thence  still  rested 
upon  her.  It  was  a  long  time  before  she  was  able  to  rise 
from  her  bed ;  and  the  new  year  had  begun  before  she  was 
strong  enough  to  be  carried  down  stairs  in  her  father's 
arms.  But  the  tender  care,  the  warm  atmosphere  of  affec- 
tion that  surrounded  her,  could  not  but  have  their  effect. 
Little  by  little  her  cheeks  resumed  their  roundness,  and  her 


390  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

eyes  their  tender  light ;  and,  if  her  smile  was  rarer,  it  was 
sweeter,  too,  than  ever  before. 

Hannah  watched  her  cousin  with  anxious  eyes,  under- 
standing as  no  one  else  could  the  sorrow  that  had  fallen 
upon  her.  Once  before  she  had  seen  how  Lucy  had  strug- 
gled with  and  overcome  a  great  grief;  but  she  knew,  by 
some  intuitive  comprehension  of  the  heart  of  her  cousin, 
that  this  blow  had  struck  home  far  more  deeply,  and  that 
the  wound  would  never  so  wholly  heal  as  that  had  done. 
She  carefully  avoided  all  mention  of  Staiford,  waiting  until 
Lucy  should  choose  to  interrogate  her.  The  time  came  at 
last,  as  she  had  expected  that  it  would.  It  was  one  .mild 
evening  in  the  early  part  of  February.  The  cousins  were 
sitting  together  in  Lucy's  room,  Hannah  knitting  by  the 
fire,  and  Lucy,  in  an  arm-chair  by  the  window,  looking  out 
into  the  fading,  orange-colored  west.  She  did  not  turn  her 
face  to  look  at  her  companion,  but  it  was  in  a  tolerably 
steady  tone  that  she  said,  — 

"  I  found  those  papers  to-day,  Hannah,  in  the  drawer 
where  you  so  kindly  laid  them.  I  know  that  they  reached 
me  through  you.  Will  you  tell  me  how  you  came  by  them, 
and  what  you  know  of  him?" 

Hannah  sent  a  searching,  anxious  look  at  her  cousin. 
The  latter's  face  was  carefully  turned  from  view,  but  Han- 
nah knew,  by  the  steady  poise  of  her  head,  that  she  might 
safely  speak.  She  began  at  the  beginning,  and  related  the 
circumstances  of  Brainerd's  visit,  repeated  all  that  he  had 
told  her  of  Stanford's  death  and  lastjequests,  described  his 
anxiety  to  learn  what  had  driven  the  latter  from  Hillsboro', 
and  finally  told  how  Mrs.  Lovell's  name  had  been  men- 
tioned, and  faithfully  repeated  the  account  Brainerd  had 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  391 

given  of  his  friend's  connection  with  her.  Throughout 
the  whole  recital  Lucy  never  turned  her  head,  or  spoke ; 
only  once  or  twice  a  low,  sharp,  shuddering  sigh  which 
broke  from  her  revealed  the  constraint  she  was  putting  upon 
her  feelings.  When  it  was  ended  she  rose  up.  Her  face 
was  very  pale,  but  she  did  not  tremble.  Passing  by  the 
chair  where  her  cousin  sat,  she  stooped  and  kissed  her 
cheek,  and  then,  without  speaking,  went  quickly  out. 

The  subject  was  never  renewed  between  them ;  but  Han- 
nah had  no  need  of  words  to  show  her  all  that  was  in  her 
cousin's  heart.  None  but  she  knew  —  perhaps  the  captain 
may  have  partly  guessed  —  why,  though  the  fever  was 
gone,  and  no  vestige  of  disease  remained,  yet  the  surprised 
physician  found  in  his  patient  a  strange  want  of  recupera- 
tive vitality.  Her  cheeks  remained  pale,  and  her  form 
shadowy,  and  her  step  about  the  house  was  languid  and 
slow.  They  thought  the  severity  of  the  New  England 
winter  was  injuring  her,  and  talked  of  a  milder  climate ; 
but  she  resisted  the  idea,  and  Hannah  sided  with  her  in 
her  opposition.  Once  before  Hannah  had  urged  absence 
and  change  of  scene ;  but  she  believed  these  would  have 
no  efficacy  now.  This  new  grief  might  be  conquered,  but 
it  was  not  to  be  dissipated.  She  was  right ;  but  her  heart 
bled  for  her  favorite  as  she  saw  through  what  heavy  con- 
flict she  was  fighting  her  way  back  to  peace.  As  day  by 
day  she  watched  her  growing  serenity,  and  saw  the  almost 
smiling  cheerfulness  with  which  she  devoted  herself  to 
those  around  her,  finding  a  kind  of  happiness  in  theirs, 
Hannah  longed  to  take  her  to  her  heart,  for  she  remem- 
bered the  dark  hours  of  her  own  life,  when,  with  weak  and 
trembling  feet,  she  had  walked  the  same  rough  path.  In 


392  HILLSBORO*    FARMS. 

all  externals,  in  education  and  in  habits  of  life,  persons 
more  dissimilar  than  these  two  cousins  could  scarcely  be  ; 
but  in  the  experiences  of  life  and  in  the  gradual  changes 
wrought  thereby,  they  had,  from  widely-separated  starting- 
points,  approached  much  nearer  than  any  casual  observer 
could  imagine.  In  their  gentle  endurance,  in  the  brave, 
kind,  unselfishly  cheerful  spirit  that  governed  both  their 
lives,  there  were  strong  points  of  resemblance.  And  with 
the  growing  likeness  came,  if  possible,  a  growing  attach- 
ment. Lucy  found  one  of  her  chief  sources  of  happiness 
in  the  companionship  of  her  cousin.  They  were  much 
together ;  and  though  in  their  intercourse  they  never  ap- 
proached personal  topics,  yet  each  felt  that  she  was  under- 
stood by  the  other. 

Thus  the  winter  passed  away.  Few  visitors  came  to 
the  Erasers',  and  those  of  the  quietest  kind ;  Mary  and 
Fanshaw  once  or  twice,  and  oftener  Singleton  Burke.  The 
latter,  by  his  assiduous  but  unobtrusive  attentions  during 
Lucy's  illness  and  lingering  convalescence,  had  won  a  warm 
place  in  the  regard  of  her  family,  and  even  rendered  him- 
self, if  not,  indeed,  a  necessary,  at  least  a  valued  source  of 
interest  and  pleasure  in  her  own  life.  He  stripped  the 
Colchester  greenhouses  of  flowers  to  brighten  her  sick- 
chamber;  he  ransacked  the  markets  of  three  cities  for 
fruits  to  tempt  her  languid  appetite.  As  she  grew  better, 
and  was  able  to  resume  her  place  in  the  family  circle,  he 
brought  pleasant  books  to  entertain  her,  and  made  himself 
a  regular  purveyor  of  the  news  of  the  outside  world.  All 
that  was  most  amiable  and  excellent  in  his  character  man- 
ifested itself  now,  and  Lucy's  esteem  for  him  increased 
with  every  interview. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  393 

Yes ;  little  by  little  Lucy  was  winning  her  way  to  vic- 
tory. The  unconquerable  spirit  of  her  Scottish  ancestors, 
the  stout  old  stock  of  the  Frasers,  was  asserting  itself  again. 
Their  blood  was  in  the  veins  of  this  gentle  girl,  and  her 
spirit  was,  after  its  kind,  as  indomitable  as  theirs.  Then, 
too,  Lucy  was  a  woman ;  and  I  do  not  deny  that  a  certain 
maidenly  pride  lent  its  aid  to  her  efforts  to  hide  the  deadly 
hurt  which  still  bled  within.  She  could  not  openly  mourn 
one  whom  none  knew  as  her  lover;  but  secretly  she  cher- 
ished with  tender  exultation  the  knowledge  of  his  love 
for  her. 


394  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE  spring  came  slowly  on.  With  the  softer  sky  and 
warming  winds,  Lucy  went  abroad  again,  and  found  a 
pleasure  in  resuming  her  old  habits.  Long  walks  in  gusty 
April  days,  and  drives  over  heavy  country  roads,  —  rough 
means,  perhaps,  but  effectual,  —  were  slowly  bringing  the 
color  again  to  her  cheeks,  strength  to  her  step,  and  round- 
ness to  her  limbs. 

March  and  April  were  already  gone,  and  May,  with  its 
pale,  early  green,  and  fragile,  courageous  wild  flowers,  had 
come.  More  than  ever  before,  as  Lucy  watched  the  slow, 
annually-recurring  change  going  on  around  her,  she  was 
reminded  of  her  childhood.  She  would  sit  for  hours  to- 
gether on  the  doorstep,  luxuriating  in  the  warm  sunshine, 
and  recalling,  with  a  pensive  smile,  sweet  May  days  come 
and  passed  long  ago.  The  green  fields  and  hill-sides,  the 
tender  foliage  of  the  elms,  with  the  building  orioles  flash- 
ing in  and  out,  and  the  distant  forest  lines,  were  still  the 
same.  For  all  change  in  anything  around  her,  ilt  might 
have  been  but  yesterday  that  she  waded  brooks  and  hunted 
wild  flowers  in  the  wet  woods,  an  eager,  happy  child ;  but 
looking  into  herself,  that  time  seemed  so  long  ago,  an  in- 
terval like  a  lifetime  appeared  to  stretch  between. 

One  bright  afternoon  towards  the  latter  part  of  May, 
Lucy  had  been  sitting  for  some  time  in  the  doorway. 


HILLSBORO'   FARMS.  395 

There  was  a  slight  moisture  in  her  eyes,  and  her  face 
wore  the  sweet,  thoughtful  expression  which  had  come  to 
be  most  habitual  to  it.  She  was  thinking  how  good  and 
merciful  God  is  in  that  he  has  made  the  world  so  fair. 
When  any  great  grief  comes  upon  us,  our  hearts,  in  their 
blind,  selfish  sorrow,  sicken  at  the  sight  of  nature's  bright- 
ness. We  long  to  have  the  outward  world  put  on  a  gloom 
in  sympathy  with  ours.  Its  heedlessness  of  our  pain  seems 
cruel.  We  would  have  it  always  dark  and  cold.  But  the 
sun  shines  on,  and  the  beneficent  seasons  come  and  go, 
doing  with  such  sweet  serenity  their  appointed  work,  that 
we  are  shamed  out  of  our  childish  rebellion.  Something 
of  this  thought  was  in  Lucy's  mind  to-day. 

"  Surely,"  she  said,  "  God  did  not  make  the  world  so 
beautiful  for  us  to  grieve  in." 

Lucy's  reverie  was  interrupted.  Her  father,  passing  by, 
threw  a  letter  into  her  lap.  She  looked  up. 

"  Have  you  been  to  the  Centre,  father  ?  Why  did  you 
not  ask  me  to  go,  too  ?  " 

"  There  was  no  room  for  you,  dear :  I  had  the  wagon 
full  of  bags.  I  will  take  you  to-morrow  morning." 

"To-morrow  I  propose  to  drive  with  another  gentle- 
man." 

" Indeed ! " 

"  Yes.  Captain  Fraser  has  not  precisely  invited  me,  but 
I  have  invited  myself  to  go  with  him  to  Edgehill." 

"  Are  you  going  to  Mr.  Gore's  ?  " 

"Grandpa  is.  I  am  going  to  see  Anna.Marston,  who  is 
visiting  her  aunt  there." 

"  Well,  I  think  I  will  ask  your  grandfather  to  go 
round  by  Sam  Moore's  farm,  and  sec  about  buying  that 


396  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

horse  for  you.  He  has  one  that  goes  well  under  the 
saddle." 

"  Dear  father,  how  kind  of  you !  There  is  nothing  could 
please  me  so  much.  I  can  ride  every  day." 

"I  hope  you  will,  my  dear  child,  and  grow  strong  and 
well.  Nothing  could  please  me  so  much  as  that.  But  I 
forgot  to  say,  as  I  came  by  Ben's  house  just  now,  Lydia 
called  to  me  to  ask  you  to  go  over.  Ben  is  away,  and  she 
is  alone." 

"  Very  well ;  I  will  go  when  I  have  read  this  letter." 

The  letter  which  she  now  took  up  was  from  Horace 
Fleming,  giving  an  account  of  his  own  wedding,  which  had 
just  taken  place,  claiming  her  sympathy  on  that  joyous  oc- 
casion, and  regretting  that  it  could  not  "  have  been  graced 
by  her  sweet  presence."  She  was  still  smiling  over  the 
gay,  brotherly  epistle,  when  a  light  buggy  drew  up  under 
the  trees ;  and,  raising  her  eyes,  she  recognized  in  its  occu- 
pant Mr.  Burke.  He  alighted,  and  came  up  the  walk.  Her 
greeting  was  frankly  cordial. 

He  instantly  noticed  the  unwonted  brightness  of  Lucy's 
face,  and  glanced  at  the  letter  lying  in  her  lap. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  as  he  clasped  warmly  the  hand  she 
extended  to  him,  "  that  you  must  have  had  pleasant  news 
in  that  letter." 

"  You  are  right.  What  should  be  pleasant  news  if  a 
wedding  is  not?" 

"  A  wedding  past,  or  prospective  ?  " 

"  This  one  is  past,  and  the  happy  bridegroom  writes  to 
claim  my  congratulations.  But,"  she  added,  rising,  "  I  am 
forgetting  the  claims«bf  hospitality,  Mr.  Burke.  Will  you 
not  come  in  ?  " 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  397 

"  Not  if  you  will  allow  rue  to  stay  here  with  you  for  a 
While." 

"  Willingly,  if  you  prefer  it." 

She  resumed  her  seat,  and  he  took  one  beside  her,  and 
began  telling  her  about  Colchester  and  Mary. 

It  was  very  pleasant  sitting  there  in  the  soft,  warm  air. 
Lucy  seemed  more  like  her  own  old  self  than  Burke  had 
seen  her  for  a  long  time.  The  half  playful,  half  pensive 
softness  of  her  present  mood  was  most  attractive  to  him. 
He  thought  he  had  never  loved  her  so  well.  He  had  not 
come  that  day  with  any  purpose  of  making  a  final  trial  of 
his  fate.  How  it  came  about  he  could  never  exactly  tell ; 
but  somehow  it  was  that  after  a  little  time  he  found  him- 
self speaking  rapidly  and  earnestly,  telling  the  story  of 
his  love,  and  pleading,  with  the  eloquent  incoherence  of 
feeling,  for  a  look  —  a  word  —  which  might  encourage  his 
hopes. 

Lucy,  when  first  she  took  the  meaning  of  his  words,  had 
turned  very  pale,  and  made  a  half  movement,  as  if  to  with- 
draw from  his  side.  He  had  taken  her  hand,  but  she  drew 
it  from  his  clasp,  saying,  sadly,  — 

"My  dear  friend,  I  am  sorry  for  this.  Do  not  say  any 
more,  I  beg.  It  is  all  idle,  and  can  only  pain  us  both.  I 
thought  I  had  made  you  see  that  before.1" 

«  Do  not  say  so,  Lucy.  When,  once  before,  you  declined 
to  hear,  you  did  not  reject  my  suit.  Let  me  still  hope  that, 
if  not  now,  yet  at  some  future  day  —  " 

But  Lucy  interrupted  him.     Her  tone  was  sad,  but  firm. 

"  No ;  I  cannot  allow  you  to  pursue  this  subject.  I  re- 
peat, it  can  only  pain  us  both.  Forgive  me,  but  believe 
me,  once  for  all ;  it  can  never  be." 


398  HILLSBOEO'   FARMS. 

He  saw  that  it  was  so  —  that  her  decision  was  irrevoca- 
ble. He  had  been  sanguine  of  success,  and  the  sudden 
dashing  of  his  hopes  was  a  heavy  blow ;  but  he  took  it  like 
a  man.  He  'rose  to  his  feet,  as  if  to  go.  She  also  rose,  and 
stood  beside  him.  Tears  sprang,  in  spite  of  her,  to  her 
eyes,  as  she  extended  to  him  her  hand. 

"Do  not  let  me  think  I  have  lost  my  friend,"  she  said 

"  I  can  never  be  less  than  your  friend,  Miss  Fraser,"  he 
answered,  a  little  formally,  but  with  no  lack  of  generous 
fervor.  He  took  the  hand  she  gave  him,  holding  it  lightly 
for  an  instant,  hesitated,  as  if  he  would  have  said  some- 
thing more,  then,  dropping  it,  with  some  nearly  unintelli- 
gible words  of  farewell,  hastened  away. 

After  he  was  gone,  Lucy  sat  for  some  time  lost  in  rather 
painful  thought.  She  had  been  quite  unprepared  for  what 
had  occurred,  the  perfect  unobtrusiveness  of  Burke's  recent 
attentions  having  not  so  much  misled  her  into  the  belief 
that  he  had  renounced  his  old  hope  as  it  had  caused  her 
to  forget  the  subject  altogether.  She  felt  a  deep  regret 
for  what  had  passed  —  regret  at  once  for  the  disturbance 
of  a  friendship  she  found  pleasant,  and  for  the  too  evident 
pain  with  which  her  decision  had  been  received.  The  in- 
terview had  reawakened  sorrowful  thoughts  and  emotions 
which  she  was  anxious  to  leave  at  rest. 

Willing  to  drive  away  these  painful  reflections,  she  cast 
about  in  her  mind  for  something  with  which  to  occupy 
herself,  and  remembered  Lydia's  message.  Taking  her  hat 
and  shawl  from  the  rack  just  inside  the  door,  she  walked 
slowly  down  the  hill.  At  the  turn  of  the  drive  she  met 
her  grandfather. 

"  Where  now,  child  ?  " 


HILLSBORO'   FARMS.  399 

"  Down  to  Lydia's,  to  play  with  the  baby.  I  hope  you 
have  not  been  to  Edgehill." 

"  Why  do  you  care  ?  " 

"  I  heard  you  talk  of  going  at  dinner,  and  meant  to  ask 
you  to  take  me  with  you." 

"  I  shall  go  to-morrow.  I  must  see  Mr.  Gore  ;  and  your 
father  has  been  talking  about  a  horse  he  thinks  would  suit 
somebody.  I  have  promised  to  go  and  look  at  it." 

"  And  will  you  take  me  along,  grandpa  ?  Anna  Marston 
is  at  Edgehill,  and  I  want  very  much  to  see  her." 

"  Certainly ;  and  you  can  tell  me  how  you  like  the  horse. 
Don't  keep  me  waiting,  though." 

"  Never  fear.  I'll  be  ready  first,  as  usual ; "  and,  waving 
her  hand  to  him,  Lucy  hastened  down  the  hill. 

The  air  was  still  and-  sweet,  and  full  of  the  scent  of  grow- 
ing things.  The  sun  was  just  setting,  leaving  a  few  flecks 
of  golden  cloud  above  the  horizon,  when  she  opened  the 
white  gate  of  Lydia's  "front  yard,"  and  walked  up  to  the 
door.  She  was  met  just  within  it  by  her  cousin,  who 
carried  in  her  arms  a  fine,  active  boy  of  some  four  or  five 
months. 

"  I  am  glad  you  came,  Lucy,"  said  Lydia.  "  Baby  does 
not  seem  well ;  he  has  worried  all  day ;  and  I  am  always 
so  anxious  about  him  when  Ben  is  away ! " 

"Where  is  Ben?" 

"  He  went  to  Kiffton  early  this  morning,  and  ought  to 
be  back  by  this  time.  I  expect  him  every  minute.  Hush, 
baby !  Mamma  is  so  tired  !  do  let  her  rest  a  minute. 
He  is  such  a  tyrant,  Lucy !  He  likes  to  be  carried  about, 
and  he  cries  the  moment  I  sit  down  with  him." 

"  Come  to  me,  little  one,"  said  Lucy,  throwing  aside  her 


400  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

bonnet,  and  reaching  her  arms  to  the  child.  Come  to 
Lucy,  for  I  know  your  poor  mother's  arms  must  ache." 

The  child,  charmed  with  the  sweet  voice  and  smile, 
stretched  out  his  tiny  hands  readily  to  Lucy,  and  rested 
his  little  head  against  her  bosom,  while  Lydia,  relieved, 
sank  wearily  into  a  rocking-chair.  Soothed  either  by 
some  gentle  magnetism,  or  by  the  change  of  position,  he 
lay  perfectly  still,  and  was  soon  sinking  off  to  sleep. 
Lucy  looked  down  tenderly  for  a  few  minutes  into  the 
baby  eyes,  and  smiled  to  see  how  the  soft  haze  of  coming 
slumber  was  already  creeping  over  them. 

"  Why  don't  you  give  this  boy  a  name,  Lydia  ? "  she 
asked,  at  length.  "  It  is  a  shame  for  him  to  be  so  neg- 
lected. If  he  were  a  girl,  he  should  be  called  Lucy  with- 
out further  delay." 

"  O,  we  have  decided  upon  a  name  at  last.  Indeed, 
my  mind  was  set  on  it  from  the  beginning,  and  Ben 
agreed  with  me ;  but  every  relative  the  child  has  in  the 
world  has  proposed  a  different  name  for  him,  and  been  bent 
on  calling  him  by  it.  We  did  not  know  but  we  should 
have  to  give  up  our  own  choice. 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  We  call  him  George,  for  Mr.  Stafford  ;  we  don't  put  in 
the  Stafford,  but  call  him  George  Fraser,  for  grandpa. 
Don't  you  like  the  name?" 

Lucy's  face  was  turned  towards  the  window,  and  there- 
fore her  cousin  did  not  see  the  sudden  quiver  that  shot 
over  it,  nor  guess  the  effort  with  which,  after  only  a  few 
seconds'  pause,  she  answered,  quietly,  — 

"Yes,  certainly.  How  much  his  eyes  are  like  yours, 
Lydia!" 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  401 

And  then  ensued  a  long  talk  on  the  one  subject  most 
interesting  to  the  young  mother  —  the  baby  and  his  be- 
longings. The  child  had  fallen  asleep;  and  Lucy  sat 
quietly  in  the  gathering  darkness,  with  his  little  form 
clasped  close  to  her  bosom,  the  name,  which  she  could  not 
yet  bring  herself  to  utter,  a  spell  which  endeared  beyond 
description  the  unconscious  sleeper.  Lydia  wished  to  re- 
lieve her,  but  she  insisted  that  she  was  not  tired,  and  refused 
to  relinquish  her  sweet  burden. 

The  evening  wore  on,  but  no  Ben  made  his  appearance ; 
and  Lydia,  after  the  fashion  of  young  wives,  grew  anxious 
and  nervous.  Her  cousin  suggested  various  causes  which 
might  have  detained  him.  Perhaps  he  had  found  it  late 
when  his  business  was  concluded,  and  had  decided  to  wait 
until  morning.  His  wife  felt  sure,  however,  that  he  would 
not  fail  to  set  out ;  and,  in  spite  of  all  Lucy's  suggestions, 
she  grew  constantly  more  nervous  with  thinking  over  the 
things  that  might  have  happened  to  him.  She  sat  close 
by  the  window,  her  ear  strained  to  catch  the  sound  of 
his  approaching  wheels,  and  her  fancy  busy  with  visions 
of  broken  axletrees,  treacherous  bridges,  and  runaway 
horses. 

It  was  past  nine ;  the  clock  was  nearing  the  stroke  of 
ten,  and  he  did  not  come.  The  hour  struck,  and  the 
steady  hands  crept  on.  Half  past  ten,  and  Lydia's  ex- 
citement was  growing  wild,  when  the  welcome  roll  of 
wheels  was  heard  in  the  distance.  It  came  nearer  and 
nearer. 

"  That  is  Ben !  I  know  the  step  of  his  horse,"  cried 
Lydia ;  and  the  next  moment  they  heard  him  driving  into 
the  side  yard. 

26 


402  HILLSBOBO'    FARMS. 

Lydia  hastened  to  the  door.  "  What  did  keep  you  so, 
Ben  ?  "  she  asked,  as  the  latter  entered. 

"  I  broke  my  wagon  down  below  here,  and  had  to  stop 
and  get  it  mended.  Were  you  frightened,  little  girl? 
Good  evening,  Lucy.  I  am  glad  you  were  here.  Lydia 
has  the  fidgets  when  I  am  gone." 

"  Do  you  want  the  lantern,  Ben  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  please.  I  will  put  the  horse  up,  and  then 
come  and  tell  you  of  my  luck." 

"  You  are  walking  lame ;  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Only  a  slight  sprain.  •  I  jumped  when  the  wagon  broke, 
and  turned  my  ankle.  It's  a  mere  trifle  —  will  be  well 
to-morrow." 

Lydia  brought  the  lantern,  and  as  her  husband  went 
out,  she  stood  for  a  moment  with  the  door  open,  watch- 
ing him.  When  she  returned  into  the  room  where  she 
had  left  her  cousin,  Lucy  had  laid  the  baby  in  his  cradle, 
and  was  putting  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl. 

"Why,  Lucy!"  she  exclaimed;  "you  surely  are  not 
going  home  to-night." 

"  I  must,  dear.  I  am  to  go  to  Edgehill  early  in  the  morn- 
ing with  grandpa,  and  I  have  several  things  to  do  first." 

"  But  at  least  wait  till  Ben  comes  in,  and  let  him  go  with 
you." 

"No;  he  ought  not  to  walk  to-night;  he  is  quite  too 
lame.  I  shall  not  let  him  go." 

"  But  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  your  going  alone.  It  is 
eleven  o'clock." 

"  Still  it  is  quite  light,  and  I  know  the  way  so  perfectly. 
There  will  not  be  a  soul  on  the  road ;  and  I  shall  be  home 
in  a  few  minutes." 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  403 

"I  know  Ben  will  not  like  it." 

"  I'll  come  over  to-morrow  evening  and  make  my  peace 
with  him.  There,  good  night,  dear ;  don't  fret  about  me, 
for  I  shall  do  very  well ; "  and,  bending  once  more  over 
the  cradle  to  leave  a  kiss  on  the  baby's  velvet  cheek,  she 
went  quickly  out. 

The  night  was  very  beautiful.  There  was  no  moon, 
but  the  sky  gleamed  thick  with  stars.  A  thin  mist, 
breathed  from  the  warm,  moist  earth,  softened  without 
obscuring  their  brilliancy.  It  was  so  light  that  Lucy  could 
see  all  near  objects,  and  so  still  that  sounds  she  knew  to 
be  distant  came  distinctly  to  her  ear.  The  air  was  warm, 
laden  with  soft  odors,  and  with  the  subtile,  delicious  scent 
of  the  teeming  earth.  The  road  was,  as  she  had  predicted, 
wholly  deserted ;  but  the  beauty  of  the  night,  the  silence, 
and  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  made  the  solitary  walk  de- 
lightful. 

She  had  a  dim,  sweet  sense  of  being  alone  with  nature, 
a  feeling  as  if  the  great  loving  mother  of  us  all  were  taking 
her  to  her  bosom,  hushing  every  sorrowful  murmur,  and 
smoothing  awray  the  wrinkles  of  old  pain.  What  influence 
was  around  her  she  knew  not ;  but  as  she  walked  on  under 
the  soft  spring  starlight,  she  seemed  to  pass  out  from  the 
heavy  shadows  that  had  enveloped  her  into  a  region  clear 
and  bright.  The  past  and  the  present  seemed  suddenly 
and  widely  divided ;  and  she  turned  from  that  already 
fading  behind  to  a  future  serene  and  clear. 

So  wrapped  was  she  in  thought,  that  she  scarcely  heeded 
the  distance,  and  was  surprised  when  she  discovered  her- 
self within  a  few  steps  of  her  father's  door.  Looking  up, 


404  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

she  saw  that  a  lamp  was  burning  brightly  in  her  own 
chamber,  placed  there,  as  she  knew,  for  her  convenience 
when  she  should  come  in.  The  hall  was  lighted,  too ;  but 
all  the  lower  rooms  were  dark.  Everything  was  so  quiet 
that  she  thought  the  family  must  have  all  retired ;  but  as 
she  approached  the  door  she  saw  Jerry,  the  farm  man, 
leaning  against  one  of  the  elms  that  shadowed  the  grassy 
slope  before  the  house. 

The  sight  of  him  scattered  at  once  her  reverie,  and  she 
quickened  her  steps. 

"  A  fine  night,  Jerry,  but  bad  for  your  rheumatism,"  she 
said,  as  she  passed  him. 

The  man  made  no  reply,  and  Lucy  went  on  to  the  door- 
steps. Pushing  open  the  door,  she  paused,  and  turned  to 
take  one  more  look  at  the  lovely  night.  The  hall  lamp 
shot  its  rays  far  out,  down  the  grassy  slope,  and  she  watched 
them  gleaming  on  the  gauzy  wreaths  of  mist  that  were 
curling  up  from  below,  her  figure  framed  for  the  moment 
in  the  brilliantly-lighted  doorway.  Only  for  a  moment, 
however ;  then  she  closed  the  door,  extinguished  the  lamp, 
and  went  softly  up  to  her  own  chamber. 

One  of  the  windows  was  open,  and  she  went  to  close  it. 
A  pale  meteor  went  trailing  across  the  heavens,  and  she 
leaned  out  to  watch  its  course.  She  lingered  till  its  bright- 
ness had  wholly  disappeared,  and  was  again  in  the  act  of 
closing  the  window,  when  she  was  slightly  surprised  to 
observe  that  Jerry  had  not  moved  from  the  spot  where 
she  had  passed  him. 

As  the  sash  slid  into  its  place,  and  the  curtain  fell  over 
it,  she  could  not  help  wondering  what  should  keep  the 


HILLSBORO'  'FARMS.  405 

man  out  of  his  bed  at  that  time  of  night.  But  other 
thoughts  quickly  claimed  her  attention,  and  Jerry  and  his 
nocturnal  peculiarities  passed  from  her  mind. 

Very  soon  her  light,  too,  was  extinguished,  and  darkness, 
silence,  and  slumber  settled  over  all  the  house. 


406  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

LUCY  was  astir  early  next  morning,  passing  quietly  and 
quickly  from  one  to  another  of  the  various  avocations 
which  she  had  made  her  own  —  opening  windows,  letting 
in  the  sweet  spring  air  and  the  warm  sunshine  — brighten- 
ing, freshening  all  that  she  same  near.  Once  or  twice  she 
even  sang  at  her  tasks  —  not  quite  gayly,  perhaps  —  not 
quite  the  old  joyous,  ringing  song  that  rivalled  the  build- 
ing birds ;  but  strains  that  were  clear,  restful,  and  strong, 
that  had  in  them  a  note  of  victory,  as  well  as  a  reminis- 
cence of  conflict  and  pain. 

They  were  on  the  road  soon  after  breakfast,  for  the  cap- 
tain's business  obliged  him  to  make  a  wide  circuit  away 
from  the  usual  road  to  Edgehill,  and  the  morning  prom- 
ised to  be  warm  for  the  season.  It  was  a  delightful  day, 
and  Lucy  appreciated  it  with  a  keenness  which  showed 
how  little  the  faculty  of  enjoyment  was  diminished  in  her. 
I  dare  say  you  do  not  like  her  for  this.  You  think  she 
must  have  been,  to  some  degree,  insensible  or  shallow  that 
she  still  found  her  old  pleasure  in  the  gladness  and  glory 
of  the  day.  She  might  seem  more  interesting  to  you,  per- 
haps, were  I  to  show  her,  as  henceforth  and  for  life,  a  pale, 
sad  mourner  over  the  grave  of  her  love  and  its  hopes. 
But  that  picture,  though  interesting,  would  not  be  true. 
She  was  not  at  all  a  heroine  of  romance,  only  a  brave, 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  407 

good,  gentle  girl,  who,  having  fought  with  and  mastered 
her  great  grief,  had  found  the  peace  which  is  born  of  such 
victories.  For  the  rest,  temperament  would  assert  itself. 
She  could  not  help  enjoying,  for  she  was  born  with  the  ex- 
quisite physical  organization  which  imbibes  pleasure  at 
every  pore.  People  with  this  happy  natural  endowment 
can  never  be  wholly  wretched,  so  long,  at  least,  as  youth, 
health,  and  fine  weather  remain. 

The  important  business  of  Lucy's  saddle-horse  first  de- 
manded attention,  and  much  discussion.  It  was  finally 
settled  to  everybody's  satisfaction ;  the  horse  was  ordered 
ov.er  to  Hillsboro'  for  trial  before  completing  the  purchase, 
and  they  turned  their  faces  towards  Edgehill.  The  morn- 
ing was  well  advanced  when  they  reached  the  village. 
They  drove  to  the  house  where  Lucy's  friend  was  staying. 

"  You  are  not  in  such  a  hurry,  grandpa,  as  to  prevent 
your  going  in  a  few  minutes.  Mrs.  Bird  and  Anna  will 
want  to  see  you." 

"I  will  just  look  in  and  bid  them  good  morning;  and 
then  I  have  some  business  to  arrange  with  Mr.  Gore. 
When  that  is  finished,  I  may  have  a  little  time  left." 

They  walked  up  the  gravel  path  into  a  little  veranda, 
and  rang.  The  door  was  opened  by  a  neat  young  girl, 
who,  in  answer  to  their  inquiries,  said  Mrs.  Bird  and  her 
niece  were  gone  to  spend  the  day  at  Colchester. 

Here  was  a  contretemps  for  Lucy.  She  pencilled  a  few 
words  of  regret  upon  the  card  she  gave  to  the  girl,  and 
turned  away  with  her  grandfather. 

"  Well,  Lucy,  where  next  ?  "  asked  the  latter. 

"  There  is  no  one  else  I  care  to  see." 

"  Then  you  may  as  well  go  witli  me  to  Mr.  Gore's." 


408  HILLSBORO'    FAEMS. 

"  Shall  you  be  detained  there  long  ?  " 

"Half  an  hour,  probably." 

"  Very  well ;  we  will  go,  then." 

It  cost  Lucy  some  effort  to  give  this  assent.  She  felt 
strongly  averse  to  visiting  a  house  which  must  re-awaken 
so  many  painful  associations;  but  it  seemed  difficult  to 
avoid  doing  so  without  appearing  unreasonable  or  discour- 
teous, and  she  yielded.  After  all,  she  said  to  herself,  what 
did  it  matter?  She  must  learn  to  meet  these  shocks,  one 
by  one.  They  would,  perhaps,  be  easier  by  and  by.  But 
she  sat  quite  silent  as  they  drove  on  to  the  other  end  of 
the  village.  , 

111  success  seemed  to  attend  them  this  morning.  On 
inquiring  for  Mr.  Gore,  they  learned  that  he  was  confined 
to  his  room  with  a  severe  cold  and  an  attack  of  rheuma- 
tism. The  servant  who  gave  this  information  knew  them, 
and  was  quite  certain  that  Mr.  Gore,  although  he  had  ex- 
cused himself  to  other  visitors  that  morning,  would  wish 
to  see  the  captain  and  Miss  Fraser.  Accordingly  Lucy 
and  her  grandfather  were  shown  into  the  drawing-room, 
while  the  man  went  up  with  their  names. 

He  soon  returned,  saying  they  were  to  follow  him. 
They  were  conducted  up  stairs  to  a  kind  of  half  study, 
half  dressing-room,  where  they  found  Mr.  Gore  in  an  easy 
chair,  with  his  right  arm  bandaged  and  stiff  with  rheuma- 
tism. He  welcomed  them  cordially,  apologizing  to  Lucy, 
as  he  warmly  pressed  her  hand,  for  receiving  her  in  such 
questionable  shape. 

Mi'.  Gore  had  not  seen  Lucy  for  a  year ;  and,  looking  at 
her  now  as  they  talked  together,  his  keen  eye  detected  a 
change  in  her.  There  was  the  same  soft  grace  he  remem- 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  409 

be  red  before,  the  same  bloom,  the  same  enchanting  smile ; 
but  over  the  sweet  face  seemed  to  have  come  just  that 
haunting  expression  which  looked  out  from  the  eyes  of 
Anne  Wycombe.  He  sighed  as  he  saw  that  the  resem- 
blance to  his  ill-fated  ancestress  had  become  complete. 

There  were  many  topics  to  be  touched  upon ;  among 
them,  one  which  Lucy  knew  must  come  up,  and  had  braced 
her  nerves  to  meet.  They  talked  of  Stafford.  What  was 
said  she  never  could  recall,  but  she  only  remembered 
thinking,  through  it  all,  how  strange  it  was  that  these  two 
gray-haired  men  should  be  sitting  there  and  talking  with 
tender  regret  of  him  who  had  been  so  young,  so  full  of 
glorious  life,  —  that  he  should  be  lying  cold  and  dead,  and 
they  survive  to  weep  for  him.  It  seemed  unreal  —  in- 
credible. 

After  a  time  they  passed  to  other  things,  and  Lucy  ex- 
erted herself  to  sustain  her  share  of  the  conversation.  The 
subject  of  Captain  Eraser's  business  was  alluded  to,  and 
dismissed  by  him  as  a  matter  which  could  well  wait  until 
his  friend  should  be  in  better  case.  Mr.  Gore  remarked 
that  he  had  been  unable  to  attend  to  business  for  several 
days  ;  he  had  then  a  number  of  letters  of  importance  lying 
on  his  table  unanswered.  A  young  man  in  the  village, 
who  sometimes  did  writing  for  him,  had  been  sent  for  that 
morning ;  but,  unfortunately,  he  was  away  from  home. 
The  captain,  with  characteristic  good-nature,  immediately 
declared  that  he  had  the  whole  day  at  his  disposal,  and,  if 
his  friend  would  only  make  use  of  him,  would  be  happy  to 
write  as  many  letters  as  the  latter  chose  to  dictate.  The 
offer  was  accepted  as  frankly  as  it  was  made,  and  Mr.  Gore 
turned  to  Lucy  :  — 


410  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  what  will  you  do  while  I  take 
possession  of  your  grandfather  ?  " 

"  Pray  do  not  be  troubled  on  my  account ;  I  shall  do  very 
well,  I  assure  you." 

"  You  will  find  books  in  the  library,  and  a  piano  in  the 
drawing-room.  I  must  beg  you  to  order  luncheon  at  what 
hour  may  suit  you  best.  James,"  —  to  the  servant  who 
answered  his  bell,  —  "bring  the  keys  of  the  library  to  Miss 
Fraser,  and  see  that  she  has  everything  she  wishes  for. 
Then  remember,  whoever  calls,  that  I  am  too  much  en- 
gaged to  see  any  one.  I  shall  ring  if  I  want  anything ; 
and  don't  come  near  me  unless  the  house  is  on  fire." 

James  held  open  the  door  for  Lucy  to  pass  out,  and  then 
the  two  old  men  were  left  alone. 

Lucy  lingered  a  while  to  look  out  of  the  large  arched 
window  of  the  upper  hall,  whence  a  wide  and  varied  view 
was  obtained;  paused  a  moment  before  the  pictui'e  of  Mis- 
tress Anne  Wycombe,  to  look  into  the  painted  eyes,  whose 
expression  perplexed  her  no  longer,  whose  spirit  seemed, 
indeed,  to  answer  to  hers,  and,  at  length,  went  down  to  the 
drawing-room.  She  laid  aside  her  bonnet,  and,  bringing 
from  the  library  a  portfolio  of  drawings,  she  buried  her- 
self in  the  recesses  of  a  deep  arm-chair,  and  began  turning 
over  its  contents.  But  it  was  in  vain  she  strove  to  fix  her 
attention  upon  the  pictures.  Scenes  widely  different  from 
*any  the, artist  had  delineated  filled  her  mind.  She  found 
herself  recalling  minutely  the  last  occasion  on  which  she 
had  been  in  that  room.  Every  incident  was  as  fresh  in 
her  memory  as  the  events  of  yesterday.  Then,  mentally, 
she  went  over  the  days  which  succeeded  —  those  still, 
bright  summer  days  before  the  sudden  darkness  came. 


HILLSBOUO'    FARMS.  411 

She  lingered  over  them ;  she  strove  resolutely  to  hold  her 
thoughts  back  from  all  which  came  after  them. 

In  the  midst  of  her  reverie,  the  sudden  ringing  of  the 
hall-door  bell  brought  her  sharply  back  to  the  present. 
Some  one  appeared  to  have  inquired  for  the  master  of  the 
house,  for  she  heard  James  replying  that  Mr.  Gore  was 
particularly  engaged,  and  had  given  orders  not  to  be  dis- 
turbed ;  but  if  the  gentleman  preferred  to  wait,  he  would 
show  him  into  the  drawing-room.  Mr.  Gore  would  be  at 
liberty  in  an  hour  or  two. 

Lucy  heard  the  person  come  into  the  hall.  The  idea  of 
being  intruded  upon  here,  in  her  present  mood,  by  a  stran- 
ger, was  intolerable;  and, just  as  the  new-comer  entered 
the  room,  she  made  her  escape  from  it  by  a  French  win- 
dow opening  on  the  terrace.  She  had  passed  out  unob- 
served ;  and  a  few  steps  brought  her  to  the  head  of  the 
close-shaded  walk  running  along  one  end  of  the  garden. 
It  was  screened  from  observation  on  the  side  of  the  house 
by  the  line  of  locusts  that  bordered  it,  and  on  the  edge 
overlooking  the  ravine  by  the  old  buckthorn  hedge. 

At  the  foot  of  the  walk  a  sheltered  seat  invited  her;  but 
she  was  in  no  mood  to  desire  repose.  The  excitement  of 
her  feelings  demanded  the  relief  of  motion ;  and  for  a  long 
time  she  continued  to  walk  rapidly  up  and  down. 

The  day  had  lost  none  of  its  beauty.  The  sun  shone 
goldenly,  and  the  water,  rushing  away  through  the  ravine 
below,  sparkled  brightly  in  its  light.  The  fresh  spring 
wind  came  sweeping  over  the  horse-chestnut  trees,  rustling 
their  broad,  just-opened  leaves,  and  waving  the  fringy 
foliage  of  the  locusts.  On  the  rough  face  of  the  cliff 
fluttered  gay,  green  streamers,  and  the  swallows  were 


412  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

wheeling  in  dizzy  circles  over  the  great  chimneys  of  the 
old  house.  The  air  was  full  of  perfume  and  pleasant 
sounds.  All  around  were  the  beauty  and  the  gladness  of 
re-awakening  life.  But  Lucy  was  unconscious  of  it  all.  In 
her  heart  was  swelling  for  utterance  a  great  cry  of  agony. 
The  labor  of  months  was  undone  in  an  hour;  the  half-con- 
quered grief  arose  and  faced  her  again,  grim  and  terrible 
as  ever.  All  the  resignation  to  which  she  had  schooled 
herself,  all  the  strength  and  serenity  which,  little  by  little, 
she  had  won,  were  swept  away  in  a  moment  by  the  sud- 
den rush  of  memory.  A.  wild,  passionate  prayer  for  death 
was  on  her  lips. 

A  footstep  on  the  walk  startled  her.  She  turned,  and 
stood  face  to  face  with  George  Stafford ! 

Both  were,  for  an  instant,  motionless,  —  he  pale,  but 
erect  and  haughty ;  she  as  if  suddenly  frozen.  She  stood 
leaning  forward,  her  eyes  dilated,  and  on  her  forehead  a 
contraction  as  of  physical  pain.  The  next  moment  she 
wavered,  a  mist  swam  before  her  eyes,  and  she  would  have 
fallen,  but  that  Stafford,  springing  forward,  received  her 
insensible  form  in  his  arms. 

Perhaps,  if  Lucy  had  not  fainted  away,  this  sudden  and 
unexpected  meeting  might  not  have  led  to  an  immediate 
explanation  between  our  two  friends;  but  after  such  an 
involuntary  confession  as  that  act  amounted  to,  disguises 
could  go  but  little  way.  Indeed,  when  a  young  lady,  after 
a  fainting  fit,  returns  to  consciousness  to  find  herself  in  the 
arms  of  a  gentleman,  to  feel  a  strong  heart  throbbing  near 
her  own,  and  to  meet  the  close  glance  of  eyes  full  of  tender- 
ness and  anxiety,  the  situation  is,  on  the  whole,  unfavora- 
ble to  the  maintenance  of  artificial  relations. 


HILLSBOKO'    FABMS.  413 


CHAPTER  XL. 

Two  hours  later,  the  two  old  men  having  finished  their 
letters,  Mr.  Gore's  bell  rang  loudly,  and  was  answered  by 
the  same  man  who  had  appeared  before. 

"  Has  Miss  Eraser  had  luncheon,  James  ?  " 

"  I  think  not  yet,  sir." 

"  Why,  bless  me,  she  will  be  starved !  Is  she  in  the 
library?" 

"  No,  sir.  I  saw  her  go  into  the  locust  walk  some  time 
ago.  And  as  I  came  past  there  just  now  I  heard  her  talk- 
ing with  the  gentleman." 

"  What  gentleman  ?  " 

"One  who  called  to  see  you,  sir.  I  told  him  you  were 
engaged,  and  he  said  he  would  wait." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"  I  never  saw  him  before,  sir.  I  showed  him  into  the 
drawing-room ;  but  I  suppose  he  got  tired  of  waiting,  and 
went  into  the  garden,  where  Miss  Fraser  was." 

"  Well,  take  my  compliments  to  the  gentleman,  whoever 
he  is,  and  to  Miss  Fraser  also,  and  tell  them  I  am  at  leisure, 
and  shall  be  happy  to  see  them  up  here.  And  bring  the 
luncheon  directly;  we  will  take  it  here  together.  I  shall 
treat  you,  captain,  to  a  bottle  of  my  father's  choicest  claret. 
Madison  was  president  when  the  first  cobwebs  began  to 
gather  over  it.  What  old  fellows  you  and  I  are  g 
to  hi- ! " 


414  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

"Yes;  we  shall  be  slipping  off  the  stage  soon,  and  the 
yonng  folks  will  be  filling  our  places.  They  will  drink  our 
old  wine,  and  sit  in  our  chimney  corner." 

"  There,  my  friend,  you  are  happier  than  I.  You  have 
a  son  to  bear  your  name,  and  a  lovely  grandchild  to  glad- 
den your  old  age.  For  me  there  is  no  one.  My  name  dies 
with  me,  and  my  race,  too,  since  that  poor  boy  Stafford  is 
gone.  I  had  come  to  love  him  as  a  son,  and  to  think  that 
he  would  take  the  place  of  one  to  my  lonely  old  age.  But 
now  —  Great  God  !  Do  the  dead  appear  when  we  speak 
of  them?" 

The  last  words  of  the  old  man  were  uttered  in  a  scream 
almost  like  a  woman's,  as  the  door  opened,  and  Stafford, 
with  Lucy  leaning  on  his  arm,  entered  the  room.  The 
scene  which  ensued  was  all  excitement  and  confusion.  Mr. 
Gore,  starting  from  his  seat,  clasped  his  recovered  relative 
in  his  arms,  and  wept  for  joy.  Lucy  stole  to  her  grand- 
father's side,  and  hid  her  agitated  face  in  the  shelter  of  his 
arm.  James,  coming  in  with  the  tray,  was  so  overcome  by 
the  sight  of  his  master,  who  had  not  taken  a  step  unas- 
sisted for  three  days,  thus  suddenly  restored  to  activity, 
that  he  was  near  dropping  his  whole  burden  upon  the  floor. 
Exclamations,  questions,  congratulations,  and  eager  greet- 
ings resounded  on  all  sides;  and  it  was  some  time  before 
any  one  had  attained  sufficient  composure  to  listen  to  the 
wanderer's  account  of  himself. 

When  the  kind-hearted  Lynch  and  his  party  turned 
reluctantly  away  from  what  they  believed  to  be  Stafford's 
lifeless  body,  the  long  and  heavy  swoon,  consequent  upon 
great  loss  of  blood,  into  which  he  had  sunk,  did,  indeed,  so 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  415 

much  resemble  death  that  it  was  not  strange  they  were 
deceived.  And  it  had  nearly  ended  in  death.  Had  it 
not  been  for  the  half  foolish  boy  whose  life  he  had  saved 
amid  the  snows  of  N"e\v  England,  the  other  attendants 
would  have  buried  him,  as  the  Englishmen  had  desired. 
But  the  lad  showed  such  frightful  rage  when  they  offered 
to  touch  the  body  of  his  master,  that  they  at  length  de- 
sisted from  their  efforts.  Hours  passed  before  there  were 
any  signs  of  returning  life,  and  then  they  appeared  so  faint 
and  feeble  that  it  is  doubtful  if  any  civilized  practitioner 
would  have  given  the  patient  an  hour's  lease  of  life.  But 
nature  and  her  barbarian  children  were  kinder  to  him. 
Their  simple  skill  and  primitive  remedies,  aided  by  the 
dry,  pure  air,  and  by  the  sound  constitution  of  the  wounded 
man,  were  victorious  in  the  end.  The  process,  however, 
was  painfully  slow.  Six  months  wore  away  before  he 
had  regained  sufficient  strength  to  make  travel  practi- 
cable. 

And  then  arose  difficulties.  All  his  money,  papers,  and 
what  few  valuables  he  had  with  him,  he  had  parted  with  to 
Lynch.  He  was  completely  a  pensioner  on  the  kindness 
of  the  natives  by  whom  he  was  surrounded.  They  had 
cared  for  him  unweariedly ;  they  took  the  most  particular 
fancy  to  him ;  and  they  seemed  to  regard  him  as  in  some 
way  belonging  to  them.  They  watched  him  so  jealously, 
that  the  idea  became  fixed  in  his  mind  that  he  was  vir- 
tually a  prisoner  in  their  hands.  Whether  it  really  was  so 
or  not  he  never  learned,  as  he  was  careful,  by  a  well-simu- 
lated appearance  of  perfect  content  with  his  situation,  to 
avoid  any  such  quickening  of  their  suspicions  as  might 
lead  to  his  being  subjected  to  closer  surveillance,  or  to 
restraint. 


416  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

Another  circumstance  added  to  his  perplexities.  His 
hospitable  though  jealous  entertainers  were  of  a  nomadic 
race  ;  and  once  or  twice,  during  the  period  of  his  sojourn 
with  them,  they  had  made  a  sudden  flitting  from  one  place 
of  abode  to  another.  Alarmed  by  the  report  that  a  hostile 
tribe  living  to  the  east  of  them  were  preparing  for  a  raid 
upon  their  flocks  and  village,  they  would  sweep  up  every- 
thing which  they  had,  —  households,  herds,  habitations, 
even,  —  and  make  a  precipitate  flight  of  many  days  into  the 
interior.  Stafford  and  Figaro  were  borne  along  with  the 
rest.  They  could  not  well  help  it,  even  if  they  had  known 
certainly  that  they  wished  to  do  so.  But  they  were  thus 
carried  far  away  from  any  frequented  route  leading  back 
to  the  country-vvhence  they  had  come,  and  the  difficulties 
and  dangers  of  a  return  into  India  very  greatly  enhanced. 
From  the  best  estimate  which  Stafford  was  able  to  make 
of  their  probable  position,  he  was  quite  sure  that  some  of 
the  extreme  outposts  of  the  Russian  government  could 
not  be  far  away.  He  believed  that  if  he  could  but  push 
forward  in  the  general  direction  the  natives  were  keeping, 
he  could  soon  reach  some  trading  post  or  military  station, 
and  have  a  chance  of  finding  such  assistance,  and  possi- 
bly companionship,  as  would  enable  him  to  penetrate  into 
Europe  through  Western  Asia.  A  careful  computation  of 
the  chances  convinced  him  that  this  route  would  offer  no 
greater  delays  or  obstacles  than  would  attend  an  attempt 
to  return  by  way  of  India.  The  novelty  of  the  expedition, 
too,  had  a  degree  of  attractiveness  for  him ;  and  its  dan- 
gers—  which  he  probably  under-estimated  in  some  degree 
—  did  not  detract  at  all  from  the  favor  with  which  he 
looked  upon  the  plan. 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  417 

It  is  impossible  to  repeat  in  detail  the  story  of  his  long 
and  weary  wanderings,  his  dangers,  hardships,  delays,  and 
detentions.  He  set  out  early  in  November,  a  short  time 
before  Brainerd's  visit  to  Hillsboro',  and  about  the  middle 
of  the  following  April  reached  Moscow,  alone,  save  for 
the  lad  Figaro,  without  friends,  credit,  or  money.  Here 
a  piece  of  good  fortune  befell  him.  He  met  an  old  Lon- 
don acquaintance,  who  supplied  him  with  funds,  and  gave 
him  information  relative  to  his  friends  in  England.  This 
friend  had  heard  the  intelligence  brought  by  Lynch,  which 
of  course  no  one  doubted,  the  latter  believing  that  he  had 
seen  Stafford  draw  his  last  breath.  From  Moscow  Stafford 
wrote  to  his  uncle,  and  arrived  two  days  after  his  letter  in 
England,  where  he  was  received  by  Colonel  Ross  as  one 
risen  from  the  dead. 

He  wrote  at  once  to  Brainerd,  asking  him  to  inform  Mr. 
Gore  of  his  resurrection.  Brainerd,  however,  was  absent 
in  the  South,  and  failed  to  receive  the  letter.  Stafford, 
with  all  possible  despatch,  arranged  his  affairs,  and  sailed 
for  New  York.  His  disappointment  was  keen,  on  arriving, 
not  to  find  Brainerd  there  to  welcome  him ;  but,  sending  a 
telegraphic  despatch  after  his  friend,  he  determined  to  em- 
ploy the  few  days  which  must  intervene  before  the  latter 
could  arrive,  in  a  visit  to  Edgehill.  He  had  reached  Kiff- 
ton  the  previous  afternoon.  From  the  window  of  the  hotel 
he  had  a  glimpse  of  Ben  Miller  just  driving  away,  but  was 
too  late  to  attract  his  attention.  He  took  a  horse  and 
buggy  about  sunset  to  drive  over  to  Edgehill. 

"About  sunset!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Gore;  "then,  my  dear 
boy,  why  did  you  not  reach  here  last  night?" 

"  In  passing  through  Hillsboro',  I  was  delayed  some  time, 
27 


418  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

misled  by  a  light  that  shone  before  me,  —  a  sort  of  ignis 
fatuus,  I  thought,  —  and  in  consequence  I  reached  here 
so  late  that  I  would  not,  disturb  you,  but  went  to  the  public 
house." 

"  An  ignis  fatuus,  George,  on  those  breezy  hills !  The 
idea  is  preposterous." 

"  I  think  so  myself  now,  sir,"  answered  Stafford,  gravely. 
"  It  must  have  been  a  star,  after  all ;  but  my  vision  was 
dim,  and  I  could  not  tell  its  true  character." 

"  What  was  it  like  ?  "  inquired  the  captain,  curiously. 

"  It  appeared  to  be  shining  from  a  window.  I  left  my 
horse  by  the  highway,  and  stood  a  long  time  under  a  tree 
to  watch  it.  I  have  long  been  superstitious  about  the 
lights  from  Hillsboro'  windows ;  but  I  do  not  think  I  ever 
realized  until  to-day  their  beneficent  influences." 

The  captain  stared  and  looked  puzzled ;  and  Mr.  Gore 
shot  at  Stafford  a  keen  glance  of  inquiry.  The  latter  wore 
an  air  of  such  perfect  seriousness  that  his  kinsman's  half- 
suspicion  of  "  chaff"  was  allayed.  But  the  meaning  look 
that  passed  from  Stafford  to  Lucy,  and  her  conscious  blush, 
were  enlightening. 

"Ah,  ha!"  cried  the  old  man.  "Sits  the  wind  in  that 
quarter?  I  think  you  two  have  been  making  good  use 
of  your  time  in  my  locust  walk  this  morning.  Thomas 
Fraser,  have  you  anything  to  say  about  this  business  ?  " 

But  the  captain's  perceptions  had  been  quicker  than 
those  of  his  friend.  He  had  drawn  Lucy  into  his  arms, 
and  she  was  weeping  there,  quietly,  but  a  little  hysteri- 
cally. 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  whispered,  "  my  precious  lamb,  I 
understand  it  all.  Did  you  think,  in  all  that  time  last 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  419 

winter,  that  your  old  grandfather  did  not  guess  what  made 
the  days  so  dark  ?  Hush,  child  !  Do  not  weep  so.  We 
are  coming  all  right  now." 

Stafford,  who  had  been  shaking  hands  with  his  cousin 
and  receiving  his  joyful  congratulations,  now  approached. 
The  captain  still  held  one  arm  around  his  grandchild ;  but, 
reaching  out  the  other,  he  gave  Stafford's  hand  a  cordial 
clasp.  A  twinkle  of  mirth  shone  through  the  suspicious 
moisture  of  his  eyes. 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  "  you  two  have  been  making  your  ar- 
rangements without  much  reference  to  us  old  fellows ;  and 
now,  I  dare  say,  Miss  Lucy  relies  on  me  to  make  her  peace 
with  her  father  and  mother.  But  I  warn  you,  sir,  not  to 
trust  her  too  far.  Another  man  holds  her  plighted  faith  ; 
if  she  breaks  it  to  him,  she  may  to  you." 

"  Grandpapa ! "  exclaimed  Lucy,  lifting  her  head  with  a 
flush  of  surprise. 

"  Well,  child,  is  it  not  so  ?  How  many  times  have  you 
solemnly  pledged  me  your  word  to  die  an  old  maid  for  my 
sake?" 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  cried  Mr.  Gore,  coming  to  the 
rescue,  "give  him  the  excuse  of  Benedick  in  the  play: 
'  When  I  said  I  would  die  a  bachelor,  I  did  not  think  I 
should  live  to  be  married.'  " 

Lucy  laughed  softly ;  but  the  sweet  seriousness  of  ex- 
pression quickly  returned  to  her  face.  She  was  standing 
before  her  grandfather,  in  one  of  her  old  childish  atti- 
tudes, her  two  hands  reached  up,  holding  the  lapels  of  his 
coat. 

"Dear  grandpa,"  she  whispered,  "I  will  never  Icavo 
you.  I  will  never  have  a  home  which  you  do  not  share." 


420  HILLSBORO'    FARMS. 

It  was  a  few  minutes  later,  when  the  two  elders  were 
occupied  with  some  discussion  between  themselves,  that 
Stafford  followed  Lucy  into  a  window  recess,  where  she 
was  standing,  half  screened  by  the  drooping  curtain.  She 
looked  up  a  little  shyly  as  he  came  to  her  side. 

"  So,  then,  it  was  you,  last  night,  and  not  Jerry,"  she 
said. 

« It  was  I." 

"  But  you  have  not  given  a  true  account  of  what  brought 
you  there." 

"  Why  should  you  suppose  that  I  have  not  ?  I  had 
come  up  over  the  long  hill,  driving  slowly,  oppressed,  in 
spite  of  all  my  efforts,  by  some  heavy  thoughts.  It  was 
already  late  when  I  passed  the  still  and  darkened  home  of 
the  Pages,  looking  back  with  a  blessing  for  all  the  kind,  warm 
hearts  within  its  walls.  Rising  the  crest  of  the  hill,  I  saw 
the  distant  light  from  your  chamber  window.  Shall  I  tell 
you,  dearest,  what  a  wild,  passionate  longing  took  posses- 
sion of  me  once  more,  for  the  last  time,  to  be  near  you  — 
perhaps,  to  gain  a  glimpse,  if  it  were  only  of  your  shadow 
on  the  curtain,  before  going  away  forever  ?  I  could  see  by 
my  watch,  in  the  dim  starlight,  that  it  was  nearly  twelve 
o'clock.  From  my  knowledge  of  the  habits  of  your  house- 
hold, I  felt  sure  that  the  family  would  all  have  retired ; 
and,  fastening  my  horse  by  the  road-side,  I  pi'oceeded  to- 
wards the  house  on  foot.  The  closed  doors  and  the  air 
of  stillness  everywhere  convinced,  me  that  I  had  been 
correct  in  my  supposition  ;  yet  the  hall  lamp  was  still  burn- 
ing, and  your  chamber,  though  lighted,  was  evidently  un- 
occupied. I  decided  that  you  must  be  writing  at  your  desk 
in  the  hall,  and  waited,  thinking  that  when  you  should  go 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  421 

up  stairs,  I  might  see  you  come  to  the  window  to  close  the 
curtain." 

"  You  must  have  found  it  dull :  weren't  you  very  sleepy, 
sir?" 

"  It  is  fortunate  for  you  that  those  two  old  men  are  in 
sight,  or  I  would  have  my  revenge  for  that  speech.  But  I 
was  just  on  the  point  of  a  confession.  Will  you  laugh  at 
me  if  I  make  it  ?  " 

"Perhaps." 

There  was  gay  malice  in  her  tone,  but  the  soft  glance  of 
her  eye  contradicted  it.  He  went  on :  — 

"Do  you  remember  that  night  — now  nearly  two  years 
ago  —  when  you  stood  with  me  by  that  upper  window  in 
your  father's  house,  and  showed  me,  through  the  rain,  the 
distant  gleam  of  old  Nancy's  lights?  You  answered 
lightly  and  carelessly  then,  when  I  reminded  you  whose 
little  candle,  shining  out  into  the  gloom,  had  guided  me 
from  cold,  and  darkness,  and  death,  into  warmth,  and  light, 
and  safety.  But  I  dared  not  tell  you  then  of  the  hope  I 
had  begun  to  cherish  that  the  same  hand  would  light  me 
to  a  better,  nobler  life.  I  had  not  been  a  bad  man,  as  the 
world  goes ;  but  O,  Lucy,  such  a  useless  one !  And  I  had 
such  opportunities  —  I  might  have  done  so  much!  But 
my  love  for  you  had  struck  one  sound,  sweet  root  into  the 
barren  soil  of  my  life.  All  the  better  and  more  unspoiled 
part  of  my  nature  quickened  and  swayed  to  you.  You 
know  that  I  am  superstitious.  I  made  an  omen  for  my 
hopes  of  those  shining  lamps.  The  thought  of  their  steady 
light  burning  on  through  so  many  years  was  full  of  en- 
couragement to  me.  When  they  went  out  in  sudden 
darkness,  there  fell  upon  me  a  cold  fear  that  was  never 


422  HILLSBORO'   FARMS. 

quite  banished  from  my  thoughts,  till,  weeks  later,  its  ful- 
filment came. 

"  After  that  I  was  reckless,  desperate.  I  had  staked  so 
much,  and  lost  all !  I  had  not  even  the  relief  of  resent- 
ment; for  I  could  not  blame  you.  If  your  judgment 
wronged  me  in  one  case,  it  was  little.  What  claim  had 
such  a  useless,  selfish  waif  as  I  to  be  anything  to  you  ?  I 
think  I  never  knew  of  how  little  worth  my  life  had  been 
till  I  felt  it  ebbing  from  me  in  that  dreadful  solitude,  and 
thought  how  few  would  really  care  for  my  loss,  how  very 
few  would  really  be  the  better  for  the  time  which  I  had 
lived  in  the  world.  That  was  the  hardest  of  all,  Lucy.  I 
loved  life.  Death  was  dreadful  to  me.  Though  in  losing 
you  I  had  lost,  I  knew,  the  best  that  life  could  give  me,  yet 
its  tide  was  strong  in  my  veins.  I  had  so  much  strength, 
so  much  capacity  for  living,  —  every  quivering  nerve  in  me 
clung  to  this  earthly  life,  and  shrank  from  the  stillness  and 
coldness  of  death.  And  to  think  that  the  existence  so  dear 
to  me  was  worthless  to  the  worlct — that  though  I  died 
there,  like  a  dog,  in  the  desert,  no  one  would  be  the  loser  I 
A  few  kind  old  companions  would  drop  a  tear,  and  say, 
*  Poor  fellow !  he  is  gone ; '  and  then  everything  would  go 
on  as  before  I  was  forgotten.  Darling,  I  know  what  that 
look  means.  But  I  did  not  guess,  then,  the  difference  that 
it  would  make  to  you.  I  know,  now,  why  my  life  was 
saved  —  it  could  not  be  valueless  if  you  cared  for  it.  It 
has  grown  to  be  a  precious  thing,  and  should  be  put  to 
noble  uses.  Even  when  I  stood,  last  night,  hopeless  of  the 
good  this  day  has  brought,  looking  upward  to  the  light 
which  shone  on  me  from  your  window,  I  knew  that,  though 
you  were  lost  to  me,  my  guiding  lamp  was  there.  All  the 


HILLSBORO'    FARMS.  423 

past  pain  and  sorrow  were  not  lost.  Your  influence  on 
my  life  would  remain,  and  shape  it  to  better  ends.  If  the 
future  should  in  any  sense  redeem  the  waste,  and  wreck, 
and  folly  of  the  past,  it  would  be  owing  all  to  you.  Your 
pure  and  steadfast  light  it  would  be  which  would  shine 
before  me  like  a  star." 


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Climbing  the  Itope.  The  Little  Spaniard.    In  press. 

Billy  Grime*'*  Favorite.       Salt  Water  Dick. 

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The  Sand  Hills  of  Jutland.  By  Hans  Christian  Andersen.  16mo. 
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Tarns  of  an  Old  Mariner.  By  Mrs.  Mary  Cowden  Clarke.  Il- 
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School-Boy  Days.    By  W.  H.  G.  Kingston.   Ifimo.   16  illustrat'ng. 
Great  Men  and  Gallant  Deeds.    By  J.  G.  Edgar.    IGmo.  lltust. 

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Golden  Truths. 

A  beautiful  gift  book,  in  prose  and  verse.    $2.00. 

Human  Life  in  Shakespeare. 

By  Henry  Giles.    12mo.    Cloth,  $2.00. 

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By  Petroleum  V.  Nasby,  P.  M.  (wich  is  Post  Master.)  Illustrated 
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"Svnngtn*  Round  the  Cirkle." 

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Claudia. 

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Lives  of  Grant  and  Coif  ax. 

By  Hon.  Charles  A.  Phelps,  late  Speaker  of  the  Mass.  House  of 
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Farm  Talk. 

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